Atychiphobia
by Wise-One-of-Gotham
Summary: Happiness comes and goes, and anger's only for a while. But fear... Fear is always here.
1. Rhymes

Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series or anything - or anyone - associated with the series. I also do not own Lewis Carroll or any of the quotes taken from him to be put into this story, and I do not own Agatha Christie's books or storylines.**  
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**Atychiphobia**

**Part One: A Game We'll Play Your Way  
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1. Rhymes**  
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He remained still in his cell, loathe to move for the time being. His arm still burned with pain. His head still roared with riddles. Yet... Why was he cursed so that none of them... None... none!... were quite good enough for that treacherous Batman... Not good enough to fool him...

Edward Nigma stared at the white-grey wall in front of him, imagining himself outside of Arkham, creating riddles that would _really_ go over that bat's head... He sighed, turning away from the wall to frown at the hideous orange jumpsuit he'd been forced to put on... It certainly was far from perfection. Not a single speck of green, and certainly no question marks! ...Ah, well. He didn't really mind Arkham all that much, with its air-headed psychiatrists, incompetent guards, and just awful security system in general... At least the food was halfway decent. And, free. And, he even got his own cell! Not that it was first-rate, by any means... He was still privy to the screams and songs of his fellow inmates...

At that moment, for example, Poison Ivy was across the hall, shrieking like a banshee because one of the wardens was walking the corridors with pieces of a crushed leaf stuck to the bottom of his shoe. The _plant murderer_! ...How exactly had she noticed that? Now that was a riddle indeed.

And, in one of the cells directly next to Edward's, the Mad Hatter - Jervis Tetch - could be heard chanting aloud a little poem, " '_Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, their shoes were clean and neat - and this was odd, because, you know, they hadn't any feet...'._"

Edward rolled over onto his stomach, hissing at the pain in his arm. He never could seem to get out of a fight with Batman unscathed. And, injuries always made the first few days in Arkham such a drag... The guards wouldn't even let him go to activity when he was injured! Now, where was the fun in that? Not that he did much in the Activity Center anyway, except for occasionally take over a game of chess for Jervis when he became too consumed with his fairy tale world to function... But, playing chess was always fun. Well, not the playing, per se... But, the winning was fun. Winning was always fun.

He listened silently as that same Jervis, the one he occasionally took over board games for, rambled on through the rest of his poem, then took over the storytelling of a different part of his - or, as he would insist, Alice's - Wonderland... "... 'A slow sort of country!' said the Queen. 'Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!'..."

Edward listened to the Hatter's prattle for a while before he mustered the strength to stand up and walk across his cell to look for a new book of puzzles... But, most of the books that were stacked in the small corner had been solved through five times over. He found one that was not quite complete - though it was tragically close. He opened it, searching through the pages for puzzles he hadn't yet completed... None of the puzzles were actually filled in _on the pages_, of course: writing utensils were strictly banned in Arkham... Not that there wasn't good reason for that ban. Imagine all the things that one could do to his doctors, his guards, his fellow inmates with a pen or pencil... Edward shook his head, holding the page at 155; he didn't quite recall that puzzle - a strange little number crossword. No wonder he didn't remember it: he was much better with _words._ Still...

By the time ten minutes had rolled by, Edward was mentally scratching out Puzzle 168 of 176. Only eight left... Within minutes, he would be without puzzles again. And, then what would he do? He shook his head, deciding to cross that bridge when he got to it; until then, he was going to focus his mind on figuring out the answers...

"_Three wise men of Gotham..."_

Or, at least, he had _planned_ to simply find out all the puzzles' answers... Edward frowned, concentration broken by the voice coming from the other side of the wall. It came through loud and clear. The Scarecrow must have been sitting along the wall in his cell, as well...

"_Went to sea in a cup..."_

Edward put his book down, listening to the unfamiliar rhyme.

"_If that cup had been_ stronger_,_

_Perhaps my rhyme would be longer_."

Edward smiled slightly. Ah, beautiful morbid humor... He turned his head, replying through the wall, "Thank you, Crane, for that wonderful... _song._"

He could almost imagine the tall man bristling at that; he wished he could see the reaction. But, the only reaction he could judge was the older man's dry voice saying, "That was not a song, Nigma. Nor was it intended for your ears."

"Well, if it wasn't intended for _my _ears, then I'll have to sadly inform you that you're talking to yourself, _Doctor_. As a psychologist, you must know that is never a _good_ sign."

Silence answered for the next few moments. Then... "How is your father these days, _Edward_? Still in Blackgate, or...?"

Edward's lip curled, instantly loathing the Scarecrow for always bringing up the absolute worst possible conversation topics. "Of course he's still in Blackgate!," he snapped.

"_I wouldn't be so sure."_

A chill crept up The Riddler's spine at the sound of the Scarecrow's voice. "...What do you mean?"

Jonathan Crane reveled in the poorly-hidden fear that filled his fellow inmate's question. And, he said nothing to soothe that fear. Nothing at all.

Edward stayed in the exact same place against the wall for an hour after that. Trying to convince himself that the Scarecrow was simply trying to unnerve him. There was absolutely nothing that Crane could know about his... There was absolutely nothing Crane knew that Edward Nigma didn't already! That was a fact. That was true!

...But, why hadn't the Scarecrow answered his question? ...Why - The same reason people never answered his questions, of course! Because they didn't know the answer! That was it! Crane knew he was wrong and just didn't want to sound _more _like an idiot, so he didn't answer!

He, Edward Nigma - The Riddler -, was perfectly safe! And, completely correct! And, he had absolutely nothing to worry about!

Nothing to fear.


	2. Roles

2. Roles

"A massive breakout from Blackgate Penitentiary last night, led by Catwoman, has Gotham City Police Department searching all areas of the city. Civilians are advised to please lock all doors and windows and to hide away all valuable items..."

_God, no. No. No! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, nononononononono...!_

The Riddler barely noticed Harley Quinn's concerned stare from across the table. Had he been thinking aloud?

"You okay, Eddie?"

The Riddler tore his eyes from the television screen that was mounted on the wall across the room. He suddenly had no desire to finish breakfast. Or touch it at all. In fact he was feeling more than a bit sick.

Harley turned to Ivy, who obviously had no interest in whatever problem The Riddler was facing at the moment... Or any problem he was facing ever. "Hey, Red, don't ya think Eddie's lookin' kinda pale?"

"No paler than usual, Harley. Just finish eating," Ivy responded, never actually looking at the panicky man Harley was so worried about.

The Riddler's eyes darted to one of the tables across the room, where the maskless, strawless, yet still somehow serene Scarecrow sat. The Mad Hatter was the only other person at the table, and even he sat a few feet away from Crane. Jervis' mouth was moving, but Edward doubted that the two men were having any actual, meaningful conversation. Fleetingly, Edward noticed that the Scarecrow had also not touched his breakfast. But, then he was forced to wonder if he'd ever actually seen Crane eat anything at all and realized that the answer was no... No surprise since the man looked far too thin and bony... Emaciated, really... To be anything more than a corpse. _Real_ scarecrows made of wood and straw looked far more like healthy human beings than Jonathan Crane could ever hope to.

The Scarecrow turned his head as if aware of the Riddler's glare, and Edward Nigma quickly looked away. People who don't ever meet Crane might say that he is one of the least threatening criminals in Arkham - and certainly not scary in any way. Maybe it's the costume. Or the observation that he probably couldn't win a fistfight against a five year-old child... But, Jonathan Crane, if nothing else, had a terrifying way of getting into anyone's head... Unleashing his or her worst fears... And making victims doubt their own reality and their own selves...

_Well, almost anyone. But, who in all of Arkham has a brain that can put even the good doctor's to shame? Why, it is I, Edward Nigma, of course!_

The Riddler stood himself up slowly, pushing away from the table with the one arm he had that wasn't injured, and walked across the room, directly to the Scarecrow. The former psychiatrist never once looked up from the table, but Edward was certain that the man had noticed his approach. Edward Nigma loudly cleared his throat and pointed to the television dramatically. "_How _did you know about that?"

Still not looking away from the table, Jonathan Crane asked, "Does it _scare_ you that I know so much, Edward?"

"Stop that. How did you know?"

"Aren't _you_ supposed to know everything?" Crane folded his hands. "Is this a question that even The Riddler is unable to solve?"

"No! Of course not! I know all the answers!"

The Riddler's statement caught the attention of Jervis Tetch, who had previously been reciting a bit from "The Walrus and The Carpenter" - again. The Mad Hatter jolted up, eyes bright as he leaned onto the table, looking at Edward. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?" He stared expectantly at The Riddler, eyes glinting as if he had hope of finally finding an answer.

Of course, the Mad Hatter had posed the question many, many times before - to everyone, including Edward. And, there wasn't anything that The Riddler hated more than a question without an answer. "No, no, no!," Edward shrieked, jumping up and down.

Jervis continued to stare, entirely confused.

Edward held a hand to his forehead, desperately trying to wrack his brain - his GENIUS brain - for the answer.

Harley Quinn watched The Riddler's tantrum from across the room for a few seconds before she decided to intervene. She stood up and skipped over, intent on helping him out. "Come on, Eddie, they're nonsense words. Just for fun! They don't mean nothin', an' there's no real answer!"

The Riddler threw off Harley's soothing hand. "NO! It is a QUESTION! There MUST be an ANSWER!"

Harley sighed. "Jervis, why don't you go 'n sit with Ivy? Tell her all about Wonderland's big flowahs an' buttahflies..."

"_Bread _and butter flies, you mean..." He stood up. "...She's not a weed, is she? The flowers don't like weeds..."

"Go, Jervie. Please."

Jervis obediently headed toward the table Ivy was seated at.

Harley removed The Riddler's hand from his head. "Alright, what's goin' on, Eddie?"

With the Mad Hatter out of sight, Edward apparently lost his obligation to answer Lewis Carroll's question. He instead pointed accusingly at the Scarecrow, and said, with all the grace of a preschooler, "He's _bothering_ me!"

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, and Harley frowned, saying, "Eddie, you're the one who walked ovah here in the first place. I saw ya."

"No! He was bothering me before that! Last night, he was trying to scare me!"

Jonathan Crane's face remained void of emotion. "If I remember correctly, it was you who began the conversation by commenting on my rhyme."

The Riddler opened his mouth to retaliate when he realized that Crane's argument was true... No, no it wasn't! It couldn't be! Edward Nigma was never in the wrong! Edward Nigma was never wrong! "His singing interrupted my crossword!"

Harley shook her head. "Alright, let's just drop it and move on, then, guys. Come on, Eddie." She sent a half-wave in the Scarecrow's direction. "See ya, Doctah Crane."

"Farewell, child."

And, Harley walked back to Ivy, assuming that Edward was right behind her. She sat down next to Ivy, and, as soon as she did so, the Mad Hatter jumped up, looking scandalized. "You, most certainly, ARE a _WEED_! No respect for a good hat!" Ivy rolled her eyes. Jervis turned to Harley, then, face softening. "How is your cowl?"

"Good: it's in the storeroom, with all the othah hats."

Satisfied, Jervis left the table.

Ivy continued to stab at the pieces of meat on her plate, so Harley shook her head, saying aloud to The Riddler, "Ya know, I really don't get why you 'n Doctah Crane don't get along, Eddie... I mean, you're both real smart. Ya could have lotsa 'ntelligent conversation. Really... I mean... Don't ya think so? ...Eddie?" Harley turned to look; too late she was reminded that it is never good to make _assumptions_.

The Riddler did not follow Harley back to the breakfast table. His mind was too preoccupied. _Stupid Crane._ Now everyone would think that he, Edward Nigma, was _lying_ about the Scarecrow... Well, he'd get even! Oh, yes... He'd get even. Edward smiled.

Harley wheeled back around in the direction of the Scarecrow's table, but she only turned in time to see The Riddler's mouth open and release a shrill, earsplitting scream.

The whole room turned to stare.

Jonathan Crane watched Edward crumple to the floor, screaming and shrieking, "PLEASE! Somebody! Get them off! GET THEM OFF ME! Help! HELP!" The Master of Fear's face stayed blank. He'd been working up twelve weeks of good behavior. Another fifty would have earned him parole... But, he knew exactly what would await him after The Riddler's fit.

The guards had already been watching The Riddler and the Scarecrow carefully, due to Edward's earlier shouts about Jervis' question. So, when Edward hit the ground, the guards were on the move. The three nearest guards rushed for Jonathan, handcuffing his wrists, then his ankles - which were certainly no larger than his wrists. One of the guards shoved the thin, bony prisoner to the floor, holding him down - as if Jonathan Crane bothered to put up a fight. The guard yelled to his colleagues, "Go get Riddler's doctor!"

There was a faint, "Who - Leland?," but the question apparently answered itself, as a few of the guards ran off.

Lip curling, Jonathan spat, "You must feel so strong... Able to keep down a man whose weight is less than half of your own, when his wrists and ankles are cuffed."

"Shut up, Scarecrow!"

Harley flinched when the guard's hand clapped across Jonathan's pale face. She watched Edward roll on the ground, screeching horribly. Of course, The Riddler wasn't really afraid of spiders. Or snakes, or scorpions... Or worms... So, in his real nightmares, he wouldn't be screaming for help to "get them off". He was faking it. Harley Quinn knew that. Poison Ivy knew that. The Scarecrow knew that. The Ventriloquist and Scarface and Mr. Freeze knew that. Killer Moth and Firefly and Hugo Strange knew that. Every inmate in the whole cafeteria knew that. Even _Batman_ would have known that. But, the Arkham guards... They didn't know. And what they didn't know, Jonathan Crane was going to pay for.

Harley's blonde pigtails bounced as she looked from Jonathan to Edward to Ivy. "Ivy, whadda we do?" Eddie was a friend: that fact was certain... But, poor Dr. Crane hadn't actually done anything wrong...

"We mind our own business, Harley."

So, feeling a bit saddened, Harley Quinn returned to her food and didn't see any more of the scene.

The Riddler watched with glee as the guards threw the Scarecrow's skeletal form onto a stretcher and belted him down. They wheeled him away - no doubt to extreme isolation, where no one would hear another rhyme from him for days... Ha! Serves him right... Trying to prove Edward Nigma wrong...


	3. Rooks

3. Rooks**  
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A week passed before The Riddler's arm had healed and he was allowed to go to the Activity Center with the rest of the inmates for the normal five hours of the day - two hours before lunch and three after. Another week passed before Edward began to wish he didn't have to go to activity: he was used to taking over Jervis' place in chess - not actually playing _against_ Jervis. The Mad Hatter never even once posed any kind of challenge. In fact, in seven days, Edward had won a total of 56 games of chess. True, what Edward liked about the game was the winning... But... Not without any sort of fight! Jervis just told stories about the White Queen and her king and their kingdom in Wonderland... Edward wasn't sure that the man even _cared_ about the chess game! The chess _pieces_ he cared about, no doubt, but the game-?

Three more days passed before one of the inmates - of the low-security variety - made the comment that he'd seen a rabbit that morning when he'd had to cross the courtyard on his way to the cafeteria. Jervis Tetch always did have an ear for those sorts of things, so, naturally, he heard the man and rushed over to question him. Was the rabbit white? What did it look like? Did it have a clock? Oh, dear, I hope it wasn't too dreadfully late, or the Red Queen might get angry... Needless to say, the Mad Hatter lost any appetite for food or games, and he withdrew to his own corner during activity, attempting to recite the entirety of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland solely by memory.

Four more days, and it was the beginning of another week. Jervis had been removed "temporarily" from his usual group for activity. The Riddler was forced to play chess against himself. Challenging? Perhaps. But it simply wasn't the same. He couldn't really win when he couldn't lose. Absently, he wondered who it was he used to play against when he took over for Jervis' games. But, then he remembered: Crane.

A week went by. Okay, maybe he'd overdone it. Maybe he could have acted a bit less terrified, and they wouldn't have locked the Scarecrow away for quite so long... No, no, he had been in the right. He couldn't have been wrong. He just wasn't ever wrong. He was right. Always right.

Two days. He'd never actually _missed_ someone before in his life. Other than his mother, but... Can you really miss someone you were too young to remember?

One day. He _really_ missed Crane. Of all people...

Another day. Harley felt sorry for The Riddler and offered to play against him. He was so desperate for competition that he accepted the offer. The game didn't last ten minutes. Harley had, at one point in time, long ago it seemed, earned her doctorate... But, if she had retained any of that intelligence, it certainly wasn't in games of logic.

Five days passed. He secretly began to dread even waking up in the morning. He tried to focus his time on an escape plan... But, many of those Blackgate runaways were still at large... What if his father was.. out there...? He gave that up. No way was he escaping only to have his father find him again... He was escorted to breakfast but had no appetite. He was escorted to the Activity Center. He sat down at the chess table and stared at the empty seat across from himself.

Two days. He sat down at the chess table and stared at the empty seat across from himself. He always was the one who told people not to underestimate the power of the mind... Maybe if he thought hard enough, a worthy opponent would just materialize out of the...

...Three days. He sat down at the chess table and stared at the empty seat across from himself. He didn't believe for one second that he was crazy when he was brought to Arkham. But, that place would drive _anyone_ mad. He was relieved when the lunch bell rang, even though he knew he didn't have the stomach for lunch. At least it was a break... Harley chattered idly about how her Mistah Jay was going to break her out any day... And when the inmates returned to the Activity Center, Edward went with a less-than-hopeful mind. And, he returned to his cell that evening with the express intent to absolutely fall on his knees and _beg_ Dr. Leland for more crossword books the next time he saw her. He laid down on his cot, not bothered by the fact that it was only five o' clock: he had nothing better to do than sleep, after all... But, just as he began to drift off, he was jolted awake by an eerie voice:

"_Hey, diddle, diddle_..."

Edward Nigma shot upward in bed. The voice was very quiet, and he had a fear that it was just his imagination... But, really, he had nothing to lose. He answered the voice with his own rhyme, "Time for a riddle?" Quickly, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind: "You make me with what you throw away then leave me for the birds, Nail me on a cross and yet I cry out with no words. You care naught for my health - leave me in sun, in snow, in rain. But, I could protect all of the earth, just if I only had a brain..." The Riddler took a breath. "...What am I?"

Silence answered Edward's question... The riddle that was his cryptic apology. Edward held his breath, and then...

"..._Scarecrow_..."

The Riddler almost couldn't believe it. Jonathan Crane had answered his riddle. Had accepted his apology. Already? ...Well, then there was the possibility that the man had been driven entirely insane by his time in solitary and he was just repeating the name of his persona, but... "...That one was easy."

"_Yes. Exceedingly_." Crane's voice was a rasp... High-pitched. He was certainly out of touch with the doctor in himself for the time being. No, he was much less Crane right then and much more Scarecrow.

Edward stood up, walking over to the wall, as if that would help him communicate better. "I apologize. I shall think of a more challenging puzzle for you next time."

"_I should hope so._"

"Have you seen your doc-..." The Riddler paused. He was trying to get on good terms with Crane. The last thing he needed was to forget about the Scarecrow's practices and reputation.

"_My patient?" _Edward nodded in response, ignoring the fact that he was invisible behind a concrete wall and that Jonathan Crane couldn't exactly hear his head rattle. "_No, he's taken a small vacation from our sessions... Can't come to terms with his own reality. He wants to find me a new patient to work on..."_

"Oh, well, that's exciting..." The Riddler frowned, knowing that the Scarecrow wouldn't be allowed to return to a normal schedule with the other prisoners until he was assigned a new psychiatrist and deemed "safe" again... Ha, like any of the inmates were ever really safe. They just ACTED less harmful so that they wouldn't be locked away all the time. "Do they have you in the jacket?" The Riddler imagined for a moment being in that straitjacket... Unable to move... His frown deepened.

"_Yes..."_

"Can you move at all?"

"_Enough."_

Edward silenced after that response. He wasn't entirely sure if it was an answer to his question, or an end to the conversation. Ultimately, it became both, since, after about five minutes of silence, Edward made his way back over to bed and laid down. The Scarecrow didn't say another word. And, in fact, The Riddler was well on his way to his own personal puzzleland of dreams and questions and answers, when he was startled awake by a gleeful shriek from none other than the Clown Princ_ess_ of Crime.

"FLOWAHS! MISTAH JAY SENT ME FLOWAHS!"

Edward sat up, holding his ears in annoyance. "God, does she _ever_ shut up? Doesn't anybody know what time it is?"

Either no one heard The Riddler's complaints, or the complaints were simply ignored... Either way, Edward didn't get a reply. Harley's shouting, however, started an uproar among the inmates and guards alike.

Ivy was the first to react, her tone murderous, "HOW CAN YOU BE HAPPY OVER THE SENSELESS, BRUTAL SLAUGHTER OF BEAUTIFUL, HARMLESS PLANTS?"

And, then came the voice of Aaron Cash, one of the head guards: "Who gave those flowers to Quinn? I want that delivery tracked - check postmarks and dates!" He marched down the corridor angrily, and stopped in the hallway between an empty cell and The Riddler's cell. Cash, much to Edward's dismay, suddenly decided to turn and hammer on the glass of The Riddler's cell with the hook that had become the replacement for his hand after an encounter with Killer Croc a while back... Cash's face was livid with anger. "What do you know about this, Riddler?"

The stupid bully. _Why me? Why not talk to Harley or someone who might actually __**know**__ something about what's going on? Why bother ME? _ And, Edward had half a mind to ask that aloud. He was certainly irritated enough. Furious enough. Why, Edward wanted nothing more at that moment than to make Cash shut up and go away! If only he could think of the right thing to say! But, guards were all so stupid and stubborn and... persistent... Cash could make a sudden decision to stand there all night and question Edward, and the poor prisoner wouldn't be able to prevent it...

"Answer me, Riddler! Aren't you supposed to know all the answers?"

Edward opened his mouth to give an angry response, when, a moment before he could, a voice from the cell just beside his own rang out, "_Why, if it isn't the great Captain Hook..."_

Edward turned his head toward the right wall, and Cash stepped back, growling audibly, "**Scarecrow**..."

"_I'd watch out if I were you, Hook... You're dwelling horribly close to the water..._"

"Stop worrying about me and watch out for yourself, Scarecrow. You're already on the list. Ain't nobody who wants to take you in as a patient."

The Scarecrow seemed completely deaf to any points the guard tried to make. "_Is that a crocodile I hear?_"

"All the new docs don't think you're famous enough... They want high-profile patients. They're lined up for The Joker back there..."

"_Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock..."_

Cash's nose crinkled in disgust but he continued, pretending to ignore the prisoner, "A few of the new guys even want Quinn, but Dr. Leland says she's too fond of the clown to let her go..."

"_Tick tock, tick tock_..."

"..Everyone wants to help Ivy, and..."

"_Tick tock~, tick tock~..._"

"...Tetch is..."

"_Tick tock~_..."

Aaron Cash roared, "SHUT UP!" He wheeled away from the cells, stalking down toward the other guards. "Anybody get the postmark on those flowers yet?"

One of the younger guards answered, "There wasn't one... Delivered straight to the gate. Passed security and everything. No weapons, no tricks. Nothing."

"HAA, _wrong_!," Harley shouted mockingly. "One o' the flowers is a phony! See?" The flower she touched squirted water straight up at the ceiling, and she laughed loudly. "HA, HA, HA, oh, Mistah Jay! Ya always do know just how to lift my spirits!"

Cash didn't find the gag very funny. "Somebody get Dr. Leland in here!"

Edward sank back into bed, relieved. He glanced at the wall for a moment, debating in his mind... And, then he called out, "Crane?" He waited a moment, but upon receiving no reply, he continued, "Thank you."

"_That was purely __**for the fear**__. Not a favor to you._"

"...You're really creepy sometimes... But... thanks, anyway." He turned over in bed, getting comfortable. "And, I hope they fed you in solitary. You'd be even creepier as a skeleton." Edward closed his eyes but then turned over again, feeling unsettled with his own comment. "And, don't let that give you any ideas!"


	4. Reputations

4. Reputations

"Patient Interview Nineteen. Patient's Name: Edward Nigma. Also known as The Riddler. Information from the last few sessions has led me to diagnose the patient with a severe case of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Treatment is being looked into. In addition..."

Edward cleared his throat and said, "Sorry to interrupt you, Doctor, in all of your... Technical jargon... But, may I ask a question?"

Dr. Leland looked up, taking her finger off the tape recorder. She didn't allow her face to express any surprise. "Yes, Mr. Nigma?"

"It occurs to me that you meet with your patients just one day a week... Correct?"

Leland's face remained unchanged. "That is correct."

"And, you also have exactly six patients at the moment... Myself, of course. Harley Quinn... The Ventriloquist... The list goes on. But, only to six..."

"What is it that you want, Mr. Nigma?"

Edward placed his hands on the table between the doctor and himself. "Nothing, nothing, of course, Doctor. It just strikes me as peculiar that you should work a full schedule, seven days a week, and only have six patients. Don't you think you're stifling progress? I mean, you're, no doubt, the _greatest_ doctor in all of Arkham! Think of the _patients_! They _need_ you."

Flattery was wasted on Dr. Leland. She had been working in Arkham for nearly ten years. She knew, more than anyone - except perhaps the Batman -, how the minds of the criminally insane worked. And, she knew never to accept a compliment from any one of the inmates - with the exceptions being Mr. Tetch and Ms. Quinn, whose criminal activity seemed to be completely influenced by the outside world, not by themselves. But, Edward Nigma, though far from being one of Arkham's most _deadly_ criminals, was dangerous. Never more so than when he wanted something. And he obviously wanted something. Dr. Leland paused a moment before asking, "Just which patients do you believe 'need' my professional assistance, Mr. Nigma? All patients are cared for very well by their own doctors." No one doubted that statement more than Dr. Leland, herself, who knew very well that many of Arkham's doctors were young, inexperienced, and really had little business working with such unstable prisoners. But, she was obligated to defend her colleagues.

"Well, you see, that's the problem, _Doctor_. Not _all _of the 'patients' have a doctor."

Leland was far from out-of-the-loop when it came to goings-on in her workplace. As one of the head doctors, she knew precisely the schedules of all inmates. And though there were quite a few of the low-security prisoners who were being held in the asylum without a doctor, there weren't many of the more well-known criminals who were trusted to cope without a psychiatrist. And she happened to know of only one such inmate at that moment. His doctor had quit a few weeks earlier. "...Mr. Nigma, I appreciate your praise of my skills, but I cannot help you. Doctor..." She froze for a second - just long enough for The Riddler to notice her mistake. Then she corrected herself, "...Mister... Crane is a very unique case."

Edward noted her mistake. _'Doctor'..._ He'd never actually heard anyone but the inmates use that title in reference to the Scarecrow. "And _**I**_ am just like every other crazy person in this asylum?"

"No, Mr. Nigma. Every patient has unique properties to his case. But, Mr. Crane simply holds the records for causing the most staff members to quit, the most staff members to retire, the most staff members to seek therapy... And, over the course of his extensive time in Arkham, he has also managed to kill three inmates without any physical means: he single-handedly led them to suicide - a feat never before seen in these walls. Eight years ago, he drove one doctor to suicide. Many others who have associated with him - doctors, guards - have ended up in other asylums. His track record is not appealing to any of the young doctors in Arkham today. I'm afraid I cannot help you, Mr. Nigma."

"You've completely missed the point, Doctor. I am not asking you to shirk him off to some new blood who'll just add to his 'record'. I'm asking you to treat him yourself."

"That is completely out of the question, Mr. Nigma. Now, please... How has your week been?"

The Riddler scowled. "It was fine, Doctor."

"Did anything exciting happen?"

"Harley received flowers."

"And, how does that make you feel?"

Edward groaned. "Indifferent. Other than the fact that she woke me up yelling that last night, I honestly don't care. But, now that we're on the subject, I'd be very grateful if you told the guards to leave me well alone."

"I'm afraid their job is to act based on their discretion."

"Fine." The Riddler stood up.

Dr. Leland quickly moved her hand under the table, preparing to signal the guards with a press of the emergency button. "Mr. Nigma, please sit down."

"If you have no interest in assisting me, then I most certainly am not going to cooperate with you. This session is over."

"I am the one who decides when this session ends. Sit _down_, Mr. Nigma."

"No," The Riddler answered, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

"Sit down."

"Make me."

Dr. Leland stared at her patient for a few moments. Then she sighed and said, "Even if I wanted to assist Mr. Crane, I do not have that authority. The fact that I was acquainted with him previous to his... unfortunate mental... deterioration... would interfere with his treatment."

That sparked Edward's interest, but his face said otherwise. "You knew Harley when she was still Dr. Quinzel."

"Yes, but it is different when you are treating someone who was once an equal or a lesser. Ms. Quinn was an intern for me."

The Riddler smiled, sitting down. Now _that_ was the information he was looking for. "And, _you_ were an intern for Dr. Jonathan Crane back when he worked at Arkham."

Leland watched her patient for a moment. But, she didn't make any response to confirm or negate Edward's deduction. "Alright, Mr. Nigma, I've explained myself to you. Now, please. Give me some thoughts or feelings..."

On the inside, Edward was practically dancing triumphantly. On the outside, he kept a straight face. "Despair."

"About what are you despairing?"

"I've run completely out of books to read. And, puzzles to solve."

The psychiatrist shook her head slightly. "I'll see what I can do about finding you some new books, Mr. Nigma. No promises on the puzzles, though. You must learn to cope without puzzles like that."

"...Fine. Then I'd like a detective novel. It's still a sort of puzzle."

"Very well. I'll see what I can do." Dr. Leland reached over, pressing 'Stop' on the tape recorder. She stood and walked to the door. "You are free to go, Mr. Nigma." She opened the door, and two guards stood just beyond the doorway, waiting. "Please escort Mr. Nigma to the Activity Center." The guard closest to the door nodded.

Edward made his way over to the guards. "See you next Wednesday, Doctor!"

Leland closed the door behind her patient and paced across the room to her desk. That interview certainly started out uneventful... But, it was obvious that Edward was slowly giving in to his treatment. He put up absolutely no fight when he was told that he was not going to be allowed anymore puzzles. And, never before had he spoken so openly about his life in prison... Why, Dr. Leland had been trying to determine for weeks just who Edward acquainted himself with. She'd managed to discover his friendship with Harley... But, the Scarecrow was a different story entirely. If he'd managed to befriend Scarecrow, then that spoke volumes about his social abilities... And, his psyche. Why, this was just the information Dr. Leland needed to begin to understand her patient!

Edward waltzed into the Activity Center, perfectly content that he had once again befuddled his psychiatrist. And, on top of that, he'd found out much more about the Scarecrow than he had ever hoped to find. Yes, the day was very good indeed... The only thing that would make it _better_ would be to have a partner to play chess with... If only.

The Riddler took his seat at the chess table. And, Harley Quinn quickly filled the empty chair across from him. Edward let out an exasperated sigh. "No, Harley, I do not want to play against you."

Harley tilted her head, pigtails swishing about. "Oh! No, I was just gonna ask ya how the Doctah was!"

"...Oh." Edward nodded. "Fine, I guess."

"Was he mad at ya?"

It took a moment - well, half a moment, no, a quarter of a moment, really, since his mind was so much greater than any normal human being's - for Edward to comprehend the question. "Oh, _that_ doctor. No - surprisingly. I was pretty sure that he'd be angry, but... Well, he isn't, anyway."

A bright smile lit up Harley's face. "That's good!"

"Mhm... Actually... Harley, I have a question for you."

"Aw, Eddie, ya know I'm no good at all those riddles!"

"It isn't a riddle. But, it will help me solve one."

"Oh, well if ain't a riddle..."

"You used to work at Arkham, so you know all policies, correct?"

"Yeah, I had to go through classes 'n stuff to learn everything."

"Is it against the code to become the doctor for someone who was once your superior?"

"Well, not in so many words... They can't exactly put a code on somethin' like that - ya know? It's kinda vague. But, if ya personally know someone, like an older family member or teacher or somethin', you're generally supposed to not to handle the case. Can ya imagine what would happen if one of the psychiatrists' grannies went an' killed someone? I mean, no way they'd be able to treat her personally. Favoritism and whatnot. It's hard to try to be a role model for someone who used to be a role model for you."

"...But, it isn't a rule?"

"No, 'course not."

Edward flashed a charming smile. "Thank you, Harley. Now, you'll probably want to get back to watching that TV. I believe the Joker's on in five."

"Mistah Jay's on TV?"

Ivy scowled as Harley leapt from the chair and ran across the room to block the television set. "After the commercial break, Harls..." The plant-woman then added, not quite under her breath, "Someone _please_ change the channel..."

The Riddler stared at the checkered board on the table in front of him, deep in thought. If it wasn't actually a real rule that Leland couldn't see the Scarecrow... Then her reasons for not treating him were nothing like the ones she gave... What was it that kept her from treating him? Respect? She _had_ called him 'Doctor'...

Edward Nigma returned to his cell, as usual, at five o' clock. But, instead of going to bed or thinking up riddles, he marched straight toward the wall between his and the Scarecrow's cell. "Crane?"

"_There is no Crane_..."

Impatiently, The Riddler said, "Yes, yes, I get it. You're Scarecrow. _Only_ Scarecrow. That is actually what I wanted to talk to you about." He stopped, waiting for permission to continue. Not to any surprise of his, that permission never came. So, of course, he continued, anyway, "Why did you become Scarecrow? I talked to Leland today. She called you 'Doctor'." He stopped again for a few seconds. "You had respect - who you were before Scarecrow. Why did you give it up?"

"_Nyctophobia_..."

"...What?"

"_Fear of the dark... Afraid of the dark..._"

Edward paused. "...Who's afraid of the dark?" He felt a chill slither down his spine, completely forgetting about Leland... And all of his other thoughts that day...

"_Monsters... hide in shadows..._"

Edward couldn't help but glance toward the corner of the room.

"_Under the bed..._"

Edward turned toward the cot. Beneath it was a world of pitch-blackness...

"_Everywhere..._"

Edward shuddered. "Crane..."

"_Everywhere..._"

"Crane... Stop it." The Riddler backed into the wall, eyes flitting all across his cell.

"_Everywhere. Everywhere. Everywhere."_

"Stop it."

"_Everywhere. Everywhere. Everywhere._"

"Stop it!"

"_Everywhere, everywhere_..."

"**Stop**!"

"_Everywhere..."_

The whole room was quiet. No other inmates were making any noise. There weren't any others. Only Edward. And, only that voice...

"_Everywhere~..._"

"Jonathan! Stop!" Edward sank to the ground, holding his ears, and closing his eyes tightly.

"_Everywhere... Everywhere~... Everywhere~... Everywhere~..._"

"I'm not afraid of the dark... I'm not afraid of the dark..."

The Scarecrow's voice whispered, inside Edward's head, "_No... Only of what's hiding in it..._"

The Riddler screamed.

Instantly, the voice of the Scarecrow vanished, the room became the usual familiar cell, and the typical chatter from the rest of the inmates' cells filled what had been silence. Footsteps came running down the hall, stopping in front of Edward's cell.

The prison guard stared at The Riddler. "What happened? I heard a scream."

Edward looked around, blinking rapidly. He wasn't entirely sure what had just happened. He tried to steady his breathing as his wits returned to him... "And, you assumed it was me doing the screaming?"

"Well, I..."

Not wanting the guard to stick around, Edward quickly lied, "I fell. I'm alright."

The guard looked puzzled, but he turned and slowly walked back down the hallway again.

Edward rested his head against the wall. As soon as the guard was out of earshot, he asked, "...How did you do that?"

"Which part?," answered the professional voice of Dr. Jonathan Crane.

"...The..." Edward, for once, found himself scrambling for the correct word. "...illusion...?"

"I didn't. _Fear_ did. That and more is what it does to people... That and so much more..."

"...But, I'm not really afraid of the dark."

"No, you certainly do not suffer under nyctophobia. But, most everyone is _afraid_ of what they cannot see, and you, Edward, are no exception."

"...Alright. You're scary. The terrifying, horrifying, frightening, chilling, unnerving, spooky, creepy, blood-curdling Lord of Despair - Master of Fear. So, please... Don't do that ever again."

"You... are a complicated man, Edward Nigma... Full... of _fear_." There was half a second of silence. "And of yourself."

"Oh, ha-ha. Jonathan Crane actually has a sense of humor."

"Not at all."

Edward frowned. "You never answered my questions earlier... Why did you become Scarecrow? I mean, lots of us were looking for respect. But... I talked to Dr. Leland, and it sounds like you already had that. So, why, then?"

"Simple: I did it for the _fear_."

"...You know what? I _sincerely_ hope that they find you a new psychiatrist soon. You need help, Crane."

Edward Nigma left the wall and the conversation, pretending to lose interest in the Scarecrow's past. He picked up one of the books that had been left on his bed, glancing over the cover - The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. _Hmm..._ It did seem to be a detective novel, so he silently commended Dr. Leland for her good work. And, it looked fairly interesting. So, he opened the new book to its last chapter and started reading.

The Scarecrow, meanwhile, was silently staring at the vent in his own cell. Waiting.

Just waiting.


	5. Running

5. Running

1:37 AM.

Jonathan Crane had no more waiting left to do.

The gas reached Harley Quinn's cell first. Her shouting and crying caught the attention of the guards, who never were too bright. One of the guards entered the cell when Harley didn't respond to him. And, in a few seconds, he was on the ground, wailing, and scratching at his own skin.

The Ventriloquist went next - or was it Killer Moth? Their yelps and calls for help both deafened the room at around the same time. And, after them, the fear toxin leaked from the air vents into the main hallways. The guards figured out what the problem was, then. But, far too late.

1:43 AM.

Only three people in the cell blocks of Arkham remained unaffected by their worst fears. Poison Ivy, who was immune to the plant-based chemicals in the toxin... The Scarecrow, who was either immune to the chemicals he'd worked with for so long or was simply unable to experience the emotion he so obsessed over... And The Riddler, whose cell shared a vent with Scarecrow's, and, luckily for him, Scarecrow hadn't wanted to waste a dosage of fear toxin just to poison his own vent.

The Riddler had woken up grumpily, thanks to the screaming of the inmates and guards. But, as his grogginess wore off and he realized what was happening, he was filled with a mixture of excitement and a bit of fear, himself. He expected his own worst nightmares to hit at any moment, after all...

It was Ivy's voice that made Edward first think that he had somehow successfully escaped the effects of the toxin. She shouted - for she really had to shout in order to be heard amongst the screams and sobs - out, "Air vents? How creative! Joker's already done that before!"

Jonathan Crane answered nastily, "It worked then! And, if Arkham is stupid enough to let that happen and not improve its security, then I've no reason not to profit from it!"

Edward grimaced. He'd never actually heard Crane use a tone that scathing with anyone other than the Bat. But, then again, Edward didn't know of anyone who actually _liked_ Poison Ivy. Other than Harley, of course. And, it surely didn't make Jonathan happy that Ivy was immune to his toxin...

Ivy answered - her tone just as loathsome, "You're not profiting from anything. In case you've forgotten, _Straw-killer_, you're in a straitjacket, in a locked cell, with no way out except maybe to crash through a glass wall - which you and I both know, _you_ don't have the strength to do!"

_Straw-killer? _Edward supposed that her hatred for the Scarecrow made sense... Or at least as much sense as anything Ivy did could make. The Riddler shook his head, wondering if they even knew that he was awake, too. Why, it must've been his amazing wits that escaped the toxin - yes, that must have been it! He loudly tapped on the wall to announce his presence to Crane.

The Master of Fear answered the tap instantly, his voice layered with annoyance, but at least that spiteful tone he had when addressing Ivy was gone, "What is it, Edward?"

Alright, so, apparently he _was _supposed to be awake. "Oh, nothing. Just checking." He looked around his cell, gathering his thoughts again. "But, riddle me this... Exactly how _do_ you plan to get out?"

The professional voice of Dr. Jonathan Crane answered, emotionless as usual, "Easily. Five weeks in a room by oneself gives one ample time to practice escaping a straitjacket." There was a bit of noise from the other side of the wall as Crane stood up, and, presumably, slipped his way out of the jacket.

For a moment, Edward was going to be impressed, but then it occured to him that Arkham had probably never had a prisoner quite as underweight as the Scarecrow... And it really wouldn't be a surprise if the straightjacket was too big for him, anyway. _Ha, you can't fool me, Jonathan Crane. You're no smarter, no more resourceful than Edward Nigma! _"Well, well, well, well, _well... _Riddle me this, Doctor: you're out of the jacket; now can you escape your _cell_?"

"If there is one thing I have learned from the curs-ed Bat, Edward... It is how to properly utilize the ventilation system."

"_I_ know that, of course. I've escaped that way before! But, they changed the bolts on the vents! They're impossible to open."

"Not the ones in solitary confinement..."

"But, we're not _in_ solitary confinement!," Edward insisted, as if Jonathan were missing something very obvious.

1:50 AM.

Edward ducked for cover as he heard the signature sound of one of The Joker's gag-bombs. The insane sounds of laughter that came before the explosion did give those things away. And, just as The Riddler managed to hide under the bed, the vent on his wall blew apart, parts of the concrete falling apart with it.

"It would appall most serious criminals with how un-thoroughly The Joker cleans up his past operations."

"I guess so," answered The Riddler, easing out from his shelter to look at the place the vent had been. Half of the vent was still there, but it moved out of the way easily when Edward touched it.

"_Au revoir_," the Scarecrow said, entering the ventilation system from the opening in his cell.

Edward caught a flash of orange as Jonathan hurried through the vent - just as quickly as if it were nothing but a small hallway. Edward looked around the cell one more time... Everyone was still in his or her own personal nightmare... The Riddler ran over to gather up the three detective novels he hadn't begun reading yet then rushed back over, throwing the books into the vent first. "Wait! I'm coming with you!"

Jonathan Crane didn't make any agreement to that... But, he didn't protest, either. So, Edward crawled into the vent, dragging his books with him. Jonathan was well out of sight, but Edward's ears, genius ears - yes, even his _ears_ were genius - followed the sound of movement. He crawled through the small passageways quickly; the Scarecrow was moving quick_er_, but, then again, _he _wasn't lugging around books.

Edward saw the remnants of a bomb-gag and a grate that was missing. The noise of Scarecrow's movement had ceased, so Edward assumed that they had reached their exit. He slid out, landing with a thud on the ground. Two of his books followed him, one hitting him in the stomach, the other landing directly on his face. He groaned, sitting up and scanning his surroundings. The storage locker-room! He hopped to his feet, _Oh, thank the lord!_ Finally, he'd be rid of that hideous orange jumpsuit! He heard footsteps running across the back of the room and called out, "Have you found my things yet?"

The Scarecrow gave absolutely no response. Of course.

The Riddler walked toward the footsteps but stopped when a flash of bright green caught his eye. He turned... Question marks! Oh, yes! He ran to the place his suit was hanging, taking the jacket, shirt, tie, and pants. Then he kicked off those ugly sneakers he was forced to wear in prison and slid into his black loafers. He'd change into the rest later. He picked up his trick-cane and put that with the pile of clothes he was carrying. Oh! And his books! He couldn't forget about the books! He ran back to where the vent let out and tried to reach down and pick up the books without dropping his Riddler-gear... That feat was much more easily said than done. He lost his balance and fell, dropping everything.

A moment later, the fully-costumed Scarecrow was standing over him. "_Hurry up._"

Edward sat up, scowling. "Thanks for the sympathy. Riddle me this: who is the most impatient man in all of Goth-..."

"_The toxin will wear off!_"

"Fine!" The Riddler gathered his things, trying to be quick, but then he noticed something: "I've only got two books! The third must still be in the vent!"

"_There is no time. We must go!_"

"But, my** _book_**," Edward whined, reluctantly following the Scarecrow to the door. "Wait," he said as Crane's hand went for the doorhandle. "If that toxin's still out there, I'll... I won't be able to leave!"

"_I was counting on that_..." Edward glared. The Scarecrow sighed, taking off his mask and handing it to The Riddler. "Fine. Do hurry, Edward."

"My hands are full!"

Scarecrow hissed, throwing the mask over Edward's head himself. "_You_ are a nuisance."

Not insulted in the slightest, Edward smiled behind the mask of the Scarecrow. "Alright, you can open the door, now!"

The two ran through the halls of Arkham - well, Scarecrow ran. Edward was having issues keeping all of his belongings in his hands... Plus, he wasn't used to looking through the eyes of the Scarecrow mask.

But, with Jonathan Crane's running, and Edward's half-jogging-and-occasional-tripping, they managed to make it through the front doors of Arkham.

"Now what?," Edward asked, looking across the stretch of land that lay between the asylum and its true exit. To get to the gate they still had to pass through Arkham's lawn, which had its fair share of un-toxified guards.

Jonathan snatched his mask off Edward's head, replacing it on his own. "_You're always bragging about your genius brain. You think of something._"

"I will! Take my cane." The Scarecrow picked The Riddler's trick-cane up. "Press the button on the back."

"_Which one?_"

"What does it matter? They all do something! Just pick one! We can fight off the guards!"

"_We?_" Scarecrow glanced at Edward, whose arms were far too full of his various belongings to do any sort of fighting.

"Okay, _fine, _Mr. Let's-not-look-at-the-bright-side-of-anything. Press the button at the very bottom of the cane. That will call my car. Then we can just fight off the guards until it gets here!"

Scarecrow breathed deeply. "_Ding, dong, bell..._"

"Let me guess: next time you'll '_leave me in my cell'_. What about that, Jonny? I can predict things, too! Why? Because your mind is _ridiculously_ simple!"

Jonathan Crane ignored the comment - mostly because he knew very well that Edward was trying to make him angry. But, if they began to fight, guards would take notice. And, they didn't have time for that. They hardly had any time at all. So, instead, he just pressed the button Edward had suggested, then ducked into some bushes, heading stealthily toward the gate.

"Wait for me!," Edward cried.

"_Shhhh_!"

"Don't tell me to 'Shhhh!' You weren't waiting!"

"_Where is it that we go after your car arrives?"_

"Well, there's an old warehouse on Eighth street... I've got a beach house in Malibu..." Jonathan gave him a withering look - or, at least, Edward was pretty _sure_ it was a withering look. He couldn't quite tell: the Scarecrow mask blocked it. "I'm getting the feeling that you don't want to go to California?"

A guard heard The Riddler's voice and turned around. "Who's there?" Edward silenced, stilling his movements.

"_Your own shadow..._"

The guard's eyes traversed the area. "What? Who said that?"

"_What do you mean, Henry? It's me..._"

"Who are you?"

"_Your mind._"

A terrified look crossed the guards face. "No... not again... not now..."

"_What's wrong, Henry?_"

The guard turned around, half-running, half-walking over to his nearest peer. He said something that sounded like, "I'm going on break," then made a 'casual' exit.

Edward stared at his escape partner. "...That... you..." He shook his head. "You're not going to tell me, anyway, so I won't bother asking."

"_That would be for the best._"

The sound of a helicopter drawing near made both runaways look up. Edward smiled. "Here comes our ride, now!"

"_That does not look like a car..._"

"Okay, you know what? I'm gonna give you some advice. One: take off the mask when you're not doing your scary-act. Talk normally. Otherwise, that creepy voice is going to become your usual voice, and it's going to lose effectiveness. Two: shut up. End of advice. Now, let's go!" Edward left the cover of the bushes to wait for his helicopter to land.

Scarecrow followed, still wielding the question-mark-cane.

The noise of the helicopter's blades sent shouts through the guards patrolling the area, and they all ran toward the place it was landing. "They're inmates! Trying to escape! Come on: someone stop 'em!"

Edward hopped up and down, panicking. "Open, door!" The helicopter's controls were apparently voice-activated, as the door on the side of the huge machine slid open. Edward threw his books into the chopper, which was getting very close to landing. The whirlwind from the aircraft's blades kept a few of the guards at bay, but the others couldn't be stopped. "Ladder!" A ladder fell from the helicopter, and Edward grabbed on, climbing up into the craft.

Scarecrow pressed a button on the cane, trying to figure out how to repel the guards. He pressed another. And another. Nothing was happening. So, he gave up on button-mashing and instead equipped the cane like a staff, striking out at the nearest guard.

The Riddler shut off the auto-pilot, switching to manual controls. He looked down, out the window, as the helicopter raised itself up, farther and farther from Arkham's grounds. Normally, he wouldn't have any problem leaving _anyone_ he was working with. But, to be honest, that guilt-trip he'd gotten from sending Jonathan to solitary was still fresh in his memory. And - more importantly - Scarecrow still had _his _cane! He simply couldn't leave his cane behind!

Jonathan Crane hit the closest guard in the stomach with a blow from the cane, then, giving up the fight, he turned and bolted toward the ladder, grabbing onto it just before it could slip beyond his reach. He took a deep breath, throwing the cane up, into the helicopter, then starting up the ladder.

A gunshot echoed from below. Now _that_ was certainly not protocol. Tranquilizers were one thing but guns...? A second gunshot. Scarecrow continued to climb as quickly as he could; the second gunshot barely missed him. But, as the saying goes... The third time's the charm. The Scarecrow flinched for a moment before pulling himself into the safety of the chopper and lying still on the floor.

Edward switched the controls on the aircraft back to automatic and shut the door, blocking any more bullets. He looked down at his former inmate. "You know, I've never actually flown a helicopter before."

Jonathan stood up, removing his mask. "I'll do it, then."

Edward mistook the pained expression on the other man's face for a look of disgust. "What? I'm sure I could figure it out! Do _you_ have a license to fly one of these things?"

"Naturally not. But, I have flown one before."

The Riddler watched his new partner-in-crime limp over to the controls seat. He wondered just how long it would take the Scarecrow to admit that he'd been shot. _My guess? Pretty long! _"So, where are we going, now, Jonny?"

"Don't call me that."

"Well, it's just that I feel like I sort of know you now. 'Crane' sounds so... distant. Certainly not something I'd call my friend..."

"We... are not friends, Edward. You would do well to remember that."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. But, I'm at least calling you 'Jonathan'."

"You'll call me 'Scarecrow'. That is my name."

"Whatever you say, Jonathan."

Scarecrow hissed, partially from the pain in his left hip, and partially from the living annoyance that was seated next to him. But, he only continued to fly the helicopter, making no further remark.

"So, _Jonathan_, where are we going?" He only grinned at the answering silence. "Alright, don't tell me, then. I like surprises." He thought for a moment. "I'm going to change into my suit. So, just, uh..." He gestured toward the windshield. "Keep your eyes on the..." _Road? "..._air, I guess. Don't crash us."

The Riddler disappeared for a few minutes. A few sweet, sweet, quiet minutes... And, then he was back.

"Still in the air, Jonathan?" Edward was determined to provoke his companion. He wasn't sure why. But, it was just plain fun to annoy the Doctor. Especially since Jonathan Crane rarely ever acted annoyed. "Where are we going?" Nothing. "Alright... Riddle me this..." He waited for a reaction. Nope. "Okay, me being the respectful man I am, I understand that your brain cannot compare to my own... Thusly, I shall skip the riddle that I know will leave you stumped..." The Riddler didn't actually have a riddle to ask, of course. But, he did have a point to make: "...I'm hungry."

No reaction.

Edward narrowed his eyes. "Alright, you know that repeating thing you do? When you're trying to scare someone? Well, I can do that, too! I'm hungry! I'm hungry! I'm hungry! I'm hungry! I'm hungry! I'm hungry~! I'm hungry~! I'm hungry~! I'm hungry~!" The only difference between Scarecrow's repetition and Edward's repetition... Was that Scarecrow _did_ achieve his purpose of sounding creepy. Edward, however, didn't do that at all. But, arguably, he _did _achieve his own purpose...

"Al_right_, Edward. As soon as we land, we'll steal a car and go through a drive-through somewhere."

"And then what?"

"I'm going to find an old hideout of mine."

Edward happily quieted himself. As long as he knew the plan, he was fine. He went to the back of the chopper then returned with one of his mystery novels. He opened it to the last few pages. "And, by the way, you owe me a new book."


	6. Reasons

6. Reasons

"No! We can't eat here! Their chicken nuggets taste like cardboard! And that's an _insult_ to cardboard!"

"Well, Edward, if you can think of another place that is open at 3 o'clock in the morning, I would be happy to..."

"MacRonald's!"

"We're eating here," Scarecrow said firmly, turning the car into the parking lot.

The Riddler pouted, crossing his arms. But, his pouting was short-lived. "Can we at least rob the place?"

The Scarecrow looked at him like he was an idiot. Ha! As if! Edward Nigma - an idiot? "It is a_ fast food_ restaurant, Edward. And, not a popular one, either. There is no money to be made. What is the point?"

"I want to leave a riddle for the Bat!"

"You honestly think he is going to investigate a fast food restaurant robbery?"

"If we're involved, yes. He will." Edward tapped his fingers on the dashboard, waiting for Jonathan Crane to agree. "What's the matter? Scared?"

"Edward..."

"No, of course you're not scared! But, just think of all those people in there! The workers! Think of how terrified they'll be to see you! You're, like... Like, the God of Fear! Don't you want to scare some people? That's what you live for!"

"..." Jonathan turned the steering wheel, parking the car across three different parking spots. "If you leave a riddle behind that leads the Bat to us, and we're back in Arkham before this week lets out, Edward, I swear..."

Edward grabbed his cane, joyfully jumping out of the car. He then straightened his tie and hair. "Wait! I forgot my hat!"

Jonathan was pulling his mask over his head, trying to make certain that the gas mask tubes were a little bit crooked. "Forgot where? In the helicopter?"

"No! It must still be back at Arkham! I can't go in this place! I'm not presentable!"

"For the third time, it is a_ fast food restaurant_."

"Oh my God, I just remembered about that breakout from Blackgate!"

"Edward, stop. You are experiencing post-breakout guilt trauma."

The Riddler blinked. Now that was something he'd never heard of before. Stupid psychology... No, no, wait - there was nothing he'd never heard of! It was all coming back to him! He had heard it somewhere! Yes, of course he had! "Oh, yes, I've heard of that."

"_I don't know where from. Considering I just made that up._"

"...You... must only think you've made it up. It exists. I'm sure of it."

The Scarecrow rested an arm on the hood of the car. "_Did you know there is no name given to the phobia of being wrong?_"

"Of course," Edward instantly lied. Then he reasoned, "It's probably linked to a more general phobia."

"_Indeed_," Jonathan answered. "_It is_." He stared for a moment at The Riddler.

"...Well, can we go, now? I'm not that hungry, after all. I can wait until breakfast."

"_You certainly were not acting like you could wait ten minutes ago._"

"The feeling passed. I'm fine, now. Let's just go." Edward glanced around, his cautious mind imagining that his father was lurking somewhere nearby... Of course, he couldn't let the Scarecrow notice. That would show vulnerability. And, when working with criminals... Vulnerability was dangerous. Edward opened the door to the car and got back inside.

Jonathan slowly took his mask off and got back into the car, as well. He started the car and pulled around the building and out of the parking lot. "Did you see that?"

"See what?," Edward asked, turning his head to look.

"Never mind. I thought I saw someone." The smallest trace of a smile crossed the Scarecrow's face.

Edward's eyes widened. "What did he look like?"

"I never said it was a 'he'."

"But, it was, wasn't it?" The Riddler's focus stayed on all potential hiding-spots after that. Every shadow and alleyway and bush and tree and trash can and postal box was a subject of absolute terror...

Jonathan fed off that terror. The Scarecrow wasn't used to working with other villains: he rarely ever did so. And, those times he had worked with others hadn't been pleasant experiences. There was absolutely nothing fulfilling about working with The Joker, for instance. The Joker was completely immune to fear gas and never seemed to experience fear at all. Then when Scarecrow made one tiny slip-up - really, it was only a little bit of poison - The Joker acted like all Hell had broken loose. Jonathan Crane did not much enjoy being beaten with a chair... But The Riddler... He was much different. Much, much different than most other villains. He was the kind of person who would jump every single time someone yelled 'Boo!'. He was the type who never had the guts to face anything that scared him. He was so very, very fearful. And, somehow, that made the fact that he was the most irksome, irrational, childish man Dr. Jonathan Crane had ever met... Well, that made it not matter quite _as_ much. The fear was the important thing, after all.

"Jonathan! Something's in that bush! I saw it!"

"Yes, there is something there..." Jonathan slowed the car.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? IT COULD KILL US!"

Scarecrow didn't, for one second, think that whatever was in the bush was actually dangerous. But, he wasn't going to let Edward know that. "It's not me: the engine's going out." Despite what many people would think, the Scarecrow actually did have a sense of humor. Perhaps a cruel sense of humor, but it was a sense of humor, nonetheless.

"WHAT?" The look on Edward's face was worth the small lie. The arrogant, genius Riddler looked beyond horrified. He grabbed his cane, holding it at the ready, just as the creature in the bushes showed itself... Edward lowered the cane. "It's a... cat."

Jonathan frowned. Well, that little game didn't last long. "Oh, look, the engine's working again..."

"Wait!" The Riddler made a move to open the door. "That's not just any cat! I've seen it before!"

Scarecrow watched as Edward Nigma, a grown man dressed in a suit and tie, got out of the car and kneeled on the sidewalk.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty~..."

The cat remained where it was, its sleek, black coat shimmering beneath the streetlights. It licked its paw, ignoring The Riddler.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty~... Here, kitty~..." Edward inched closer to it, holding out his hand.

"What, exactly, are you doing?," Jonathan asked.

"I'm calling the cat. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty~..."

"Alright, let me revise my statement: _why_ are you doing what you are doing?"

"Jonathan," Edward said, looking away from the feline for a moment. "That's not just a cat. That cat belongs to Catwoman."

"If you ask her, every cat in this town belongs to her."

"No, I mean, that's her_ pet_ cat."

"Do you really think that _Catwoman_ would allow her pet cat to roam the streets of Gotham on its own?"

"Maybe it got out. We have to catch it!"

"Yes, let's make as many enemies as we possibly can in our first few hours out of Arkham."

"I didn't say we were going to hurt it! Just catch it! We could take it to the hideout, hold it for ransom! Here, kitty, kitty, kitty~... Go stand behind it, Jonathan! We'll trap it!"

The Scarecrow considered doing just that, hoping that it would make Edward shut up for a little while. But, when he prepared himself to move, a searing pain coursed through his gunshot wound. So, instead, he stayed precisely where he was. "I don't like cats."

Unsurprised, The Riddler asked, "Do you like anything?"

"_Fear_."

"Doesn't count."

"Then no."

"Of course not," Edward muttered, taking another half-step toward the black cat. The feline looked up at him with large, yellow eyes. "Here, kitty, kitty..." He reached out for her.

The next thing Jonathan Crane heard were The Riddler's yowls of pain. Jonathan saw a flash of black as the cat dashed into the bushes again, and Edward returned to the car, pulling the door closed behind him. The sleeve of his green suit-jacket was torn at the end, and a few reddish scratches covered his right hand.

"...I just realized I forgot my mask and my gloves, too. And, I'm going to need a new jacket."

The Scarecrow shifted the car into gear and continued down the road.

"And, I don't like cats, either. For the record. Or any animals, really."

Jonathan turned the car down a small city-street. "...I don't mind birds."

"Really? Hm. A bit ironic, don't you think? You know, since you're the Scare_crow_ and whatnot..." The Riddler trailed off. "But, of course, you don't find anything funny, so..." He sighed, nursing his hand. "How far off is this hideout? And, you said it was old... You don't think Batman already knows about it, do you?"

"Does that matter? He will find it eventually, anyhow, and, considering who you are, he will, most likely, find it sooner rather than later."

Edward grimaced. "...I don't do that on purpose, you know. The riddles... I can't help it."

"_Reall-y_?," asked Jonathan, pretending he didn't already know, setting up the bait that he knew someone like Edward Nigma couldn't resist.

But, to Edward, it seemed perfectly normal that someone should ask about his obsession. After all, he was the living enigma! He was a complete mystery who kept everyone in the dark. No amount of psychoanalysis could give up a thing about his life! Why, just listen to his interviews with Dr. Leland! He never gave her anything to work with! "Yes, I've tried to stop it before; I just can't. When I began, it was really nothing like this... But, after my first time in Arkham, I just... I really am crazy, like they say. But, you can be crazy and be a genius... right?"

"Of course," answered Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Edward nodded, comforted. "But you aren't, are you? Crazy, like the rest of us... That's why no one wants to treat you."

"If I weren't crazy, why would I be in Arkham?"

"Because if you were sent to Blackgate, then you'd have to go on trial! You see, I've decoded it - their system. No one wants you dead, and if you went on trial as a sane person, that's exactly what you'd be - dead and buried! I'm right, aren't I?" The Riddler smiled triumphantly.

"Why, of _course_," crooned the doctor, who actually was taking little interest in Edward's theory. It was the fact that Edward asked whether he was right or not at the end of every statement that warranted attention. That showed fear. But, it is always best to build someone up before you send him crashing down. "You're always right: you've said so yourself."

"Of course_ I_ know I'm right! And, obviously, you know, too! Why does no one else see it is my question!" He slammed a fist onto the dashboard. "Riddle me this, Gotham!," he shouted, looking angrily out the window. "Why does no one understand? Why doesn't anybody appreciate my genius?"

"It's painful, isn't it? To be ostracized by people who have no right..."

"Exactly! They don't have a right to do this to me! To parade me around on their news like some... some lunatic! I'm Edward Nigma! The Riddler! A genius! _The_ genius! I am the most intelligent lifeform on this planet! But, do they see it? No! No matter how hard I try, no one appreciates my brilliance; not even my own father tried to understand me..."

"Go on," encouraged Dr. Crane, the experienced, professional psychiatrist.

"He used to beat me... Called me 'liar' and 'cheater'... All I ever wanted to do was earn some respect. I just wanted my father to be proud of me! ...Puzzles are the only fairness in the world, you know. Those who are smart enough will reap the rewards of success, and those who are not will fail! That is justice! That's how life should be!"

The car slowed to a halt, and Dr. Crane said, "Thank you, Edward, that will be all for today."

The Riddler turned his head to stare at the man in the driver's seat. The realization of what had just happened hit him slowly - but, of course, not as slowly as it would have hit a non-genius man. "...You just...?" He shook his head, letting out a hollow laugh. "Perhaps they should let you out of your cell to return to psychiatric work, Doctor." He flattened his hair. "If you can fool Edward Nigma - and I'm not saying you fooled me because I knew exactly what was going on the whole time, but that's beside the point - into giving so much away, you can certainly get through to any of those far less-brilliant minds!"

"I have no interest in such work. My only interest is_ fear_." The Scarecrow opened the door, getting out of the car. He winced as soon as he put pressure onto his left leg.

Edward smirked on the outside. On the inside, he was fuming. How had he not noticed that he had been giving so much away? And, to the Scarecrow, no less! He stepped out of the car as well, deciding to take the opportunity to tear Jonathan down. "Are fear and pain interconnected, Professor? Because you certainly seem to be enjoying that wound. Not a single complaint about it! Did you think you could hide it, and it would go away?"

Scarecrow acted as if he hadn't heard anything but the first question. "Actually, Edward, they are very closely connected, in that pain often occurs before _fear_." He could sense the hostility beneath Edward's calm, outward appearance. But, if anyone could break Edward Nigma, it could only be The Good Doctor himself. "Perhaps you need further explanation? Take yourself, for instance. Your father beat you when you were a child every time you did badly in class - a little bit of information that you decided to omit in your story. He hit you every time you did something wrong, every time you made less than a perfect score on assignments... It made you _fear_ doing badly. You began doing everything you could, including cheating, to do better in class so that you could succeed. You became _afraid_ of failure. A condition that we in the world of psychology call 'atychi_phobia_'."

The Riddler placed a hand on the top of the car, the corner of his lip twitching furiously. But, Edward Nigma knew very well that the only person who would ever be able to destroy his long-perfected sense of self-control was Batman. So, his voice remained stable: "And here I am thinking that you had 'no interest' in psychology."

"_That_ is _fear_. Which I always have interest for."

Edward rolled his eyes. And, the Scarecrow thought that he, Edward Nigma, was annoying! Jonathan was the one who never seemed bothered by anything! ...Anything but the Bat. Batman. The true enemy, the ultimate annoyance... "Alright, so you've analyzed me. Does it matter? Am I pretending to be something I'm not? No! I'm still a genius! I'm not you; I don't try to be the Master of Fear. I'll gladly allow you to hold that title and will not fight you for it. I am the_ Prince_ of _Puzzles_, and that's all I ever try to be. So, can we please get back to work?"

"Work?"

"Yes! I have riddles to write, and I assume you have chemicals to mix, or something of that nature. So that we can be prepared when these other people get out of the picture..."

"Other people? You suggest we wait until The Joker is back in Arkham?"

"Well, yes, him and all of those unimportant Blackgate fugitives..."

"That could take weeks."

"I think it'll be worth it. I mean, we want Gotham's attention, don't we? We can't strike while those others are still at large! We'll be all but ignored! Can you imagine doing all that hard work to break out of Arkham, then being overshadowed by other criminals, and still having to go back? Why, that hardly seems fair!"

Jonathan walked down the sidewalk for a few seconds before disappearing down an alley.

Edward followed, watching the ground so as not to step in any puddles or anything else that might threaten the cleanliness of his suit... "By the way, Jonathan, you're bleeding. There's blood all over your pants. You're going to have to get that treated, or you'll just bleed to death. Now, I'm no doctor, but I'm betting you'll have to get that bullet removed surgically..."

"Well, I am a doctor, and, actually, removing the bullet often causes more harm than good."

"I'll bet you my half of the money from our next heist that you'll have to have that bullet removed."

"I don't gamble."

"Really?," The Riddler asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because I distinctly remember reading in the papers about a criminal who called himself Scarecrow a few years back, who was using his mastery of fear to scare some athletes, then bet against their teams to earn cash..."

"That was not gambling. I knew that they would lose. I simply call that an investment with very high, fairly immediate return profit."

"But, I thought you were confident in your skills as a doctor, as well. Having doubts?"

"Very well. I will bet my half of the money that this bullet stays exactly where it is." Jonathan stopped in front of a metal door. He entered a code into a small keypad beside the doorhandle, then pushed the door open.

Edward clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "That's pathetic. I'm going to have to work on that security system."

Jonathan walked into the building, not bothering to turn on the lights.

Edward crept along behind him, feeling the wall for a light switch. He finally found one and flipped it. Nothing happened. "Did you forget to pay the power bill or something?"

"The building has been abandoned for years. And, I believe it would draw attention if the power company suddenly got a payment from Dr. Jonathan Crane, telling them to return power to an old warehouse out in the middle of Gotham's most crime-ridden area."

"I can't work in the dark!"

"Oh? So you are _afraid of the dark._.."

"Stop it." Edward pressed a button on his cane, then lifted it up to use as a flashlight. "When was the last time this place was cleaned?"

"Never since I have been here."

"I can tell." Edward scrunched up his nose. "What_ is_ that smell? I think something's died and is rotting in here..."

"Most likely," Scarecrow said, walking farther into the blackness of the room.

The end of Edward's cane lit up a workdesk, on top of which were various small animals - rats, squirrels, mice - that had been mutilated almost beyond recognition. Pieces of fur and dried blood and feathers littered the desktop. Edward nearly gagged. "God, this place is awful! I'm ready to leave."

"Please do."

The Riddler directed the light to the floor so that he could watch where he was stepping. A large amount of straw covered the floor, along with papers, boxes, books, and... "What's this powder-stuff?"

"Why don't you touch some and find out?"

Understood. No touching any powder-stuff... "I'm hiring a maid, first thing in the morning."

"Yes, I'm sure you'll find someone willing to clean this place up."

"I'm The Riddler. No one would dare say no to me."

Scarecrow pulled back a raggedy curtain, letting a bit of moonlight into the room. He reached up, opening the window that the curtain had been covering.

"What's this? Have we just discovered the only window in this whole dark, filthy building?"

"No. There is a window in the back room."

"Lovely._ Two_ whole windows - both with a great view of the abandoned building next door, no doubt - along with _gorgeous_ concrete walls and flooring - that are only _slightly_ tarnished with blood, chemicals, and God-knows-what-else. What a piece of real estate."

Scarecrow somehow avoided all of the random boxes and pieces of equipment lying on the floor as he returned to the entrance.

"Jonathan? Where are you going?"

"To drive that car off a bridge."

"Oh, okay," Edward said, as if the idea of driving a car off a bridge and into the Gotham waterways was a perfectly normal chore. "Pick up some groceries on the way back, would you? I'm starving."

"I doubt I'll find the time."

"Fine, then. I'll go shopping myself. Needed to find a maid, anyway. Oh, and, before you go, we need to plan out exactly what place we are going to hit first. You know, so I can start thinking of riddles."

"Gotham State University."

"A school? What could we possibly gain from that? Don't we need money?"

"Says the man who wanted to hit a fast food place," Scarecrow breathed, only loud enough for himself to hear. "_You seem to think you have plenty_."

"Plenty of money for me, maybe. And, if you're counting on me to fund all of your operations, then I suggest that you not use all of your spare time to try to scare and/or insult me." Edward followed Jonathan outside, closing the door to the hideout. "And, another thing: we're going to be all over the morning news."

"_No_," Jonathan said. "_The First National Bank of Gotham is going to be all over the morning news_."

"What? Why?"

Jonathan pointed west, toward the center of the city, where a large, black-grey smoke cloud was filling the sky. "_Because it's on fire_."

Edward turned to watch. "You don't say... Hm. Joker must be busy tonight."

"_At most, we'll be on the fifth page of the newspaper._"

"We'll be on the news somewhere! Batman's bound to find out! Then he'll come looking for us!"

"_Or just me._"

"Why just you?"

"_Because someone like Batman is, at least, intelligent enough to know that I would off you within the first few hours of any sort of partnership_."

"...What?"

"_Fair warning: I am very well-educated in all chemicals. And, many chemicals are highly poisonous... Fatal, even._"

The Riddler's hand clutched the top of his cane. "...You're joking."

"_Yes, because I 'joke'._"

Edward forced his mouth into a fake smile. "You're just trying to scare me."

"_Of course I am. That doesn't mean I'm not giving a truthful warning, though._"

"...You're just trying to scare me and make me paranoid. It's not working, Jonathan."

"_Isn't it_?"

"No! It's not! Just leave already!"

The Scarecrow opened the cardoor. "_Don't drink anything you've let out of your sight for a moment._"

"Get in the car!" Edward shook his head as the Scarecrow started the car and disappeared down the road. He took a deep breath, leaning on his question-mark cane. Now where's the nearest place to start looking for a maid? He picked the cane up, twirling it in the air for a few seconds, before placing it back on the ground and walking down the sidewalk, eyes peeled for any place of interest. His mind was racing with ideas to clue Batman in on the Gotham State University operation... Perhaps a number... _I wonder what the address is_... No, no, not a number... Just a clue... _Well, that was the place that Jonathan was first fired from... Fire? Hmmm... Back to the first fire... No! I've got it..._ With his first riddle complete, his mind settled for other thoughts... Mainly those last words of Jonathan's. "...He was just joking... I'm sure of it."


	7. Realization

7. Realization

"What are you using to get out those bloodstains?," The Riddler asked, watching over the poor, scared maid's shoulder. She answered quietly, and he nodded. "Hm. I'll keep that in mind..." He walked away from the young woman then, going to sit down at the workdesk that had previously been covered in pieces of animals. But, at that moment, the desk was practically shining. Edward pushed a few of the many candles on the desktop away. He'd found the candles in a cabinet at the back of the warehouse and had taken the liberty of lighting them and scattering them all around the place. He sighed, leaning back and resting his feet on the desk. Just as he made himself comfortable, he heard a knock at the door. "Oh, look, someone's here..." The maid looked up, terrified. Edward made no move to answer the door. Why should he? If Jonathan couldn't get past the new security system, then, well, perhaps he simply wasn't smart enough to work with The Riddler... Just as that thought passed through Edward's mind, though, the door opened. Edward frowned. "You... answered the riddles correctly."

"_Yes._"

"I made them easy for you!"

"_Of course you did._" The Scarecrow stepped into the room, shutting the door behind himself. If the maid was terrified before, she was certainly beyond horrified upon seeing Scarecrow. And, she had reason to be: after all, it was highly improbable that she would be leaving that warehouse unharmed... It was a stretch of imagination to hope that she would even leave _alive_.

The Riddler took his feet off the desk, indignant. "Kayla, here, has just cleaned the entryway. The last thing we need is you dragging in mud all over the floor..." Edward tilted his head, noticing something else. "What is that on your arm?"

Jonathan glanced at the arm Edward was asking about. "_This is Nightmare_."

"You never said anything about a pet! Where did you get that thing?"

"_An old church. Many years ago._"

The bird ruffled its feathers, eyeing Edward before letting out a loud, "Caw!"

"You couldn't find a normal pet, at least?," The Riddler asked, sure that the bird's 'caw'-ing would be a constant thing. Especially at night, when Edward was trying to sleep. "It had to be a _crow_?"

"_What else would it be?_"

"Well, you don't exactly strike me as the kind of man who keeps pets. But, I suppose something like a rat or a crow would have been my guess if I'd been told you did keep one." Edward cringed as the crow let out another obnoxious 'caw'. "I think I would have preferred a rat, though."

"_There are plenty of those around here, too. But, I catch them solely for experimentation purposes._"

"Lovely..." Edward frowned, pulling the brim of his new bowler hat down. "And, by the way, the furniture will be here in a few hours. And, you are strictly forbidden to make contact with the couch until you rinse all of that mud off, dry yourself off, and stop bleeding."

Scarecrow lowered his arm, and the crow, Nightmare, flew off toward the back of the lair. The Scarecrow removed his mask, setting it on the desk. "I am going to need chemicals."

"Are you asking me for money?" The Riddler smiled smugly. "That's always what it comes down to, isn't it? Money..."

"I have enough chemicals left from past operations to easily hit a bank or department store or something of the type. If you want to wait until The Joker is out of the picture, though, then I suggest you just give me the money."

"Of course," said The Riddler. "But, I'm coming with you."

"What?"

"Well, I don't know the prices of chemicals these days. So, you can't expect me to know how much money to entrust you with, Jonathan. _Besides_, I need to make sure that you don't blow the money on things you don't need..."

"Poisons, you mean."

"No, not necessarily!" Edward wasn't about to admit that he was paranoid. That was exactly what Jonathan wanted, after all. "I just want to make sure you buy only what you need."

"And, how will you know what, exactly, I need?"

"Well, naturally, I'll expect you to provide the explanations and equations."

Jonathan Crane scowled. "You can't afford to leave the hideout for the next few hours. You've already made that clear."

"Yes, so we'll just have to wait until tomorrow." Edward picked up the Scarecrow mask, which was drenched with water. "Why don't you go make yourself a new mask? This thing is going to shrink five sizes by the time it dries... What bridge did you drive off? It smells like saltwater. I'm sure that wound of yours loved that..."

"Where did all the straw go?," Scarecrow asked, suddenly noticing just how different the floor looked.

"Kathy threw it out," Edward answered, gesturing toward the maid. "It was cluttering the place up."

"That straw belonged to _me_," Jonathan said. "It wasn't yours to throw away."

"Well, you shoulda told Caylie that before you left."

"The maid wasn't _here_ before I left, Edward."

"Well, that's not my fault."

"_Yes_, it is, actually."

"Caroline, get over here!," Edward demanded. The maid, whose nametag clearly read 'Cameron', stood up meekly and stepped toward the two infamous criminals. "Why did you throw out all the straw?"

The maid stood completely still. What was she supposed to do? If she told the truth - that The Riddler had instructed her to throw anything that looked like it belonged in a barn straight into the garbage - then she would be in trouble with The Riddler. If she said that she'd thrown the straw away based on her own judgement, then she'd have to face the wrath of the Scarecrow...

"What do you know, she's gone mute," Edward mused.

"She is only mute with _fear_... How much has she done?"

"She's been working for hours. That area over there..." Edward waved toward the place by the entrance that still looked like a natural disaster had touched down in the old warehouse. "...is all that's left. We started at the back. In that thing that passes for your laboratory."

"What do you plan on doing after she's finished?"

"Asking a riddle, of course. If she gets it right, then I'll pay her and let her go. But, _when _she gets it wrong... I suppose she'll have to be shot." The maid closed her eyes quickly.

"How wasteful. My research could benefit from such a healthy specimen..."

The Riddler raised an eyebrow. "I thought you needed more chemicals."

"I need more to plan a _grand-scale_ operation. I can always make do for small research experiments..."

"Well, then... I suppose I can't hinder the Doctor's research. You've heard the deal, Carla. In fact, I'll go ahead and give you my riddle, so you can think about it... Ten minutes to finish cleaning and give me an answer. Fair enough?" Of course, the maid didn't have the nerve to reply. "Well, then, Carmen, riddle me this: what is it that no man wants to have yet no man wants to lose? Your time starts now."

The Scarecrow started toward his laboratory to prepare his toxin.

"Wait, Jonathan, you've got a pocketwatch, right? Can I borrow it?" Edward caught the watch that was thrown in his direction. "Alright, see you in exactly ten minutes!" Jonathan left, and Edward placed the watch on the desk, smiling as the seconds ticked by.

The maid had originally intended to clean the last bit of the place as slowly as possible. But, with The Riddler's time limit, she supposed it didn't matter much if she cleaned faster. Maybe cleaning would help her think.

Tik. Tik. Tik. Tik. "Have an answer for me yet? Only five minutes left..."

The maid frowned. She'd never been good at logic puzzles... She hadn't done a crossword for years... And, she'd never actually finished one. As for riddles, well, they weren't exactly a part of everyday life...

Tik. Tik. Tik. The figure in the small circle at the bottom of the pocketwatch raised a scythe and cut the invisible grain in front of itself with every second that ticked by. "Two minutes..."

What is it that no man wants to have yet no man wants to lose?

Tik. Tik. "Thirty seconds."

The maid threw the last few scattered papers into the garbage bag and put a hand to her head. Cleaning always helped her think...

Tik. "Three... Two... One. I need an answer. What have you got for me?"

She watched the floor as she said, "Life?" She paused. "Money? It's the root of all evil, but no one wants to lose..."

"No, no, no, only _one_ answer." The Riddler waggled his finger chidingly. "Not that it would matter for you, since both guesses were _wrong._" He stood himself up, walking over to her. "Now, now, don't be afraid... At least not of me. My job is just to get you to your appointment with Doctor Crane..." He ushered the poor woman through the whole hideout - the place she'd singlehandedly cleaned... He called out crisply as they entered the very back of the place, where Scarecrow's lab tables were set up, "Oh, Jonathan, your patient is here..."

"_Right on time,_" the Scarecrow whispered, materializing out of the shadows of the dark lab. Somehow, he looked more frightening when he was completely prepared to work. He was wearing an old labcoat that was stained around the edges of the arms with chemicals, blood, and some unidentifiable things... A latex glove covered his right hand, and the needle-fingered glove of the Scarecrow covered his left.

The Riddler clicked his tongue, pushing the young maid farther into the room. "She couldn't answer. Guessed 'life'. Ha! The answer is _obviously..._"

"_A lawsuit._"

"You just interrupted me."

"_If you would let it go, I wouldn't have had to._" The Scarecrow flexed the fingers of his left hand, moving the needles. "_I can handle the patient. Leave._"

"What? No! I've never seen you at work, Jonathan. I'd wager that not many people have. I'm staying."

"_You won't want to._"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"_The Joker won't even watch me operate_..."

"...Really?" The Riddler wondered how bad it could be. True, he couldn't really watch an entire horror movie if things got really graphic, but... That was just movie stuff. That was different. Things didn't really happen like that. He'd watched people die before. "Are you saying that I've got less tolerance for violence than The Joker?"

The Scarecrow grabbed the petrified maid's arm and pulled her toward the center of the room. "_Yes_."

"Alright, well, that's probably true. But, it's just fear. I mean, seriously, what could happen?"

"_The gas triggers fears. The worst fears. It makes you see exactly the last thing you would ever want to see. But, the newest toxin I've developed... Does the cruelest thing it can: it does not __**paralyze**__ victims with fear. And, when people are not frozen with fear... They are forced to react._"

"Okay," Edward said, still not sure what the big deal was.

_"If you must stay, then go fill this tank up with water._"

"Why?"

"_Surely you believe in mercy to those who have done no wrong._"

Edward picked up the rectangular, clear, plastic tank that was on the nearest table. "Sometimes. I'm surprised you do, though."

"_I don't. But, if I don't kill her while the gas is still in her system, I won't be able to study its effects on her brain._"

"...Oh," The Riddler said, pouring a gallon-jug of water into the tank. _Well, she had to die some way_, he reasoned, pouring a second and third jug into the tank. While Edward was busy filling the tank, the Scarecrow pressed one of the needle-fingers against the young woman's arm, injecting the toxin into her. The Riddler filled the tank up, about three-quarters of the way, before he decided that there was enough water in there, and he tried to pick it up. "I can't lift this, Jonathan!" But, instead of a reply, he heard two sounds - so perfectly melded together that they could have been just one. An earsplitting scream and a chilling, piercing, high-pitched _laugh_. "...Jonathan?"

The Scarecrow was standing over the young woman, with a look on his face that Edward had certainly never seen before: pure, unrestrained joy. The woman screamed. "_**NO! NO, NO, PLEASE! GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY!**_" Each word only made Jonathan Crane laugh harder.

The Riddler wasn't sure whether to be afraid of Jonathan's sudden change in behavior or to be impressed by the effectiveness of the toxin... But, as soon as the woman's fingernails touched her own skin, Edward turned away, feeling nothing but nausea. He was thankful that the Scarecrow's laughter drowned out the sounds of the woman ripping her own skin open. Oh, he had been so wrong... So horribly, horribly wrong... When he'd said that Jonathan wasn't insane... _God, no... Oh..._ But, he couldn't be wrong. Edward Nigma was never wrong... That was impossible... That would mean that he failed... He couldn't fail. He couldn't fail. He... No, Jonathan Crane was just evil. Evil, evil, evil. But, perfectly sane. Of course, if anyone but himself had said so, Edward Nigma wouldn't have believed it.

After what seemed like an eternity of nothing but screaming and laughing and pain and evil, he heard the splash of water. The Scarecrow's laughter didn't die out; it ended abruptly. At the same time that the woman being drowned stopped struggling. "_Well, that should produce interesting results..._"

Edward nodded. "...Yeah..."

"_Are you staying to assist with the dissection, as well?_"

"Di-_what_?"

"_How else did you think I was going to be able to study the toxin's effects on her brain?_"

"...I think I'm gonna be sick," Edward mumbled, hurrying from the room. _This_ was not what he had bargained for. He'd left Arkham with Jonathan Crane, a man who liked nursery rhymes, liked fear, and also just happened to be cruel. He hadn't planned on that man changing to Jonathan Crane, a man who _loved_ fear, was exceedingly cruel, and also just happened to like nursery rhymes - which, now that Edward thought about it, most nursery rhymes were, indeed, very cruel. _ What kind of children's rhyme should sing about babies in treetops that fall to their doom? 'Rockabye, Baby,' indeed. If I were a baby, I'd never get to sleep with songs like those!_

Edward grabbed his cane and left the hideout. Could he go through with this partnership? It certainly seemed to be filled with risks... But, Jonathan had certainly never gone through with any threats that were directed directly toward Edward... And, really, The Riddler realized that they _were_ both criminals. Their behavior wasn't supposed to be acceptable by society. But, really, it wasn't the killing that bothered him. They'd given her a chance, after all. She was just too stupid to answer the riddle correctly! The puzzles, the real justice of the world, had justly decided that she didn't have the right to live. And, Edward had just been going to shoot her. At least her body had some use in scientific research... Besides, Jonathan had drowned her before she could kill herself. And, she'd been so drugged with fear that she probably hadn't felt any pain... Really, there was nothing to be appalled about at all! The Riddler made his way back around the block and entered the answers to a few riddles on the keypad next to the hideout door. As soon as he walked in, he saw Jonathan Crane seated at the desk by the entrance.

Jonathan wore a disapproving look. "I did warn you to leave before I started."

"Yes, I know. I think I might have eaten some bad food or something. A man who jokes to psychiatrists about cutting the legs off babies really can't be put out over something like that."

The Scarecrow nodded. "I heard about that. It isn't often that someone in Arkham says something so outrageous that the whole penitentiary hears."

"It was just a riddle, really. One of the oldest ones in the book: the Sphinx's 'What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three legs in the evening?' Nothing to freak out about."

"People are strange. It's taboo to talk about violence at all, and then when you say that the violence is happening to an infant..."

"It was all theoretical, anyway! I never said that I, personally, was going to go cut off a baby's legs then give it a cane. I understand what Harley and The Joker mean when they say people can't take a joke!"

Jonathan nodded serenely. "Your answer makes much more sense than the original one, anyhow. Saying that a human is the answer makes the question so much more complicated than it really is."

Edward grinned. "Well, had someone like Harley said that, I wouldn't note it. But, coming from the great, never-give-a-compliment Crane, _I_ am going to let that comment go straight to my head."

"Please. You let everything go straight to your head. I'm surprised the weight of it all doesn't send you tumbling down."

"That," The Riddler answered, "is what I carry a cane for."

Scarecrow stood, examining the area around himself. "What time did you say you ordered the furniture to be here?"

"Around three-fifteen."

"Ah. So, it should arrive at about seven o' clock tonight."

"If those idiots are here one minute later than four, they'll be wishing they hadn't shown up at all." The Riddler paced across the room before turning back to the Scarecrow. "So, what's for lunch?"

"I thought you went 'shopping'."

"Well, you don't have a refrigerator... And, we won't have power until tomorrow - I've got some guys working on that. So, I only got some non-refrigeration-needing things... Chips, peanut butter, some bread... Hang on." He walked over to the bags, sifting through them. "Here we go... Um, some crackers... More chips... A different kind of bread... Chips... Popcorn... Candy... Chocolate... Chips..."

"Why don't you eat some of that?"

"Well, what are you going to eat?"

"Nothing. I'm not hungry."

"Now _that_ has to be a lie. You _never_ eat, Jonathan. Not once have I ever seen you eat a thing in all my time in Arkham. Seriously, do you have an eating disorder?"

"No. I simply do not need the amount of food that most people in this country today seem to think they need."

"Okay, part of that might be true. Lots of people over-eat today... But, you never eat at _all_. Humans have to eat. The average person can't live much longer than two weeks without food."

"I'm used to fasting."

"You're fasting?"

"Most of the time. And, when I'm not, I certainly don't eat anything that you bought."

"What's wrong with what I bought?"

"It's _processed_."

"So what do you eat, then?"

"Vegetables."

"Are you kidding me? How are you _alive_: most vegetables don't have any calories! They don't give you energy! Why would you do that to yourself? There's no way you can go so long without food! I mean, you've got no fat, probably next-to-no muscle... You should die within two days of not having food!"

"I'm still alive."

"When was the last time you had real food?"

"If by 'real', you mean something that is not purchasable at a farmers' market, then never."

Edward frowned. "Never? Not even when you were a kid...?"

"Never."

The Riddler stared at the older man, face completely blank. "Did you grow up on a farm or something?"

"No," Scarecrow answered. "In an apartment, in an alley."

"Were your parents health-freaks?"

"I wouldn't know."

Edward took in a quick breath. "They died?"

"No. Just did not want a son."

"...Who raised you?"

"My grandmother."

"Oh. Is she still around?"

"No. Died the day I graduated high school."

"...Do you miss her?"

"As much as anyone might be able to miss someone who thought he was Satan incarnate."

Edward froze for a second. "Oh... wow... But, that was a long time ago, right?"

"Yes... About twenty years ago. Maybe more. I don't keep track anymore." The Scarecrow tapped a few fingers on the top of the desk. "My past is nothing important. It's simple."

The Riddler shook his head. "It doesn't sound simple. _My_ past is simple. I hate simple things. I've just got the typical 'mother died, father became a drunk' story. Typical child abuse scenario. But, I didn't want a simple life, so I reached out to puzzles and games. I delved into complexity, making my own mind as different from my simple past as I could. I made myself the complex genius I am today. You're different. You are a complex _almost_-genius not by your own choosing but by an extraordinarily complex past. Tell me about it."

"No," answered Jonathan.

Edward crossed his arms, making a sour face. "Oh, come on! It was almost one of those nice 'feel-sympathy-for-the-killer-because-he-has-a-horribly-saddening-backstory' moments!"

"_That_ is an awfully specific type of moment."

"You know what I mean! I told you about my past earlier - even though you apparently already knew... That's not fair, Jonathan! Tell me! I want to know!"

"That doesn't surprise me."

"What do you mean?"

"You said so yourself. You find me to be 'complex'. You're looking at me like I'm a riddle that needs to be solved. You desperately _need_ to know the answer, and if you can't find the answer, you'll feel that you have _failed_. Remember that phobia?"

"I remember! But, why shouldn't I treat you like a riddle? You treat me like I'm just a walking bag of fear!"

"A walking bag of fear with another equally-sized bag of arrogance on top as your head."

Edward narrowed his eyes to take a moment to be furious... Then the moment was over. "Alright, we're going out to eat!" He tapped his cane on the leg of the desk. "Come on: let's go!" The Scarecrow made no attempt to move. "What's the problem?"

"Several problems, actually. One: we don't have a car. Two: if we go too far then we won't be back before three-fifteen. And, three: I realized about five minutes ago that I've lost all feeling in my leg."

"Already? It hasn't even been a day..." The Riddler set his question-mark cane down by the door. "Where, exactly, did the bullet hit?"

"I'm not certain. I haven't had the time to properly examine it."

"Oh, wonderful... This wouldn't be a big deal if we had furniture already, but since there's nothing for you to lie down on..."

"We would not have this problem if my straw were still here."

"You slept on _straw_?"

"Of course. Many animals do. It's quite comfortable."

"Somehow I doubt that." Edward furrowed his brow, trying to get his genius brain to come up with an idea. _Think, genius brain, think..._ "Well, the bullet couldn't have hit a nerve if your leg was working up until now... Unless it struck very close to a nerve, and then moved after strenuous activity - killing someone might make that happen."

"That is highly improbable."

"Maybe. But, there's a chance. And, if that's true... Then we're going to have to remove the bullet... Which means that I win that little bet we made..."

The Scarecrow was unamused. "If you pay for everything, then why should I care if all the money goes to you?"

Edward shrugged. "I don't care about the money, either. But, _I_ was right! That's all that matters!"

"If only _you_ had been shot instead of me."

"Well, yes, that would have been easier, since you could have done an operation or something... But, we'll make do. I can bind a wound: I've seen it done before! And, removing a bullet can't be too hard! You just reach in there and pull it out, right?"

Jonathan Crane stared at the ceiling. "We might as well go ahead and amputate the leg, now."

"Oh, shut up! I can figure this out! I'll just think of it like a maze: avoid all of the nasty, bloody stuff and get to the bullet."

"Just kill me."

"No. I've already made my riddle for the day we attack your school. If you die, now, then I'll be left alone with a riddle that needs to be broadcasted, but I won't want to go after a university. No. That won't work. _You_ are living. I've just gotta go find a book on how to operate... You know what? Better idea. I'll help you go back to the laboratory so that you can lie down on one of those tables. Then I'll just go kidnap a doctor. Simple!"

"If you leave a riddle behind..."

"Well, you can't expect me not to leave _something_ behind, Jonathan! It's what I do!"

"Then be smart about it, at least."

"How?"

"Frame someone else."

Edward tilted his head, looking thoughtful. "That would be puzzling, wouldn't it? ...That might actually work..."


	8. Rest

8. Rest

"Oh, Jonny, I'm home~," Edward half-sang, striding into the hideout. He was flanked by two large thugs who were carrying a small, mousy man between them. The man was obviously a doctor, and, judging by the expensive leather of his shoes, he appeared to be a fairly skilled one. His legs and arms were bound, and a piece of cloth was tied tightly around his mouth. "Just bring him to the lab, boys. Set him down and you can be on your way." The Riddler led the thugs to the very back of the hideout and gestured to a chair. "Just put him there." The two musclemen did what they were told then turned to leave. "Go see Lana to collect your pay." Edward smiled at the 'visiting' doctor then at Jonathan, who was lying, extremely uncomfortably, on a lab table. "Lana's my accountant. She covers all things to do with money. Much safer than keeping money in a bank around here."

The Scarecrow did not appear to be in the mood for Edward's rambling.

The Riddler cleared his throat. "Alright, then. Dr. Waters, I'd like you to meet Dr. Jonathan Crane, your new patient." He waited for a response. "What? Nothing to say?" Edward picked up a pair of scissors from the table then cut away the cloth covering Dr. Waters' mouth. "Perhaps now you'll find yourself to be more of a conversationalist."

The man's eyes darted from The Riddler to the Scarecrow. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Well, because, naturally, I couldn't take Jonathan to _you_. I have all the faith in the world that you would have called the police instantly."

"How did he get injured?"

"One of Arkham's guards shot him. Not something that's in Arkham policies, by the way - carrying a gun. Tranquilizers are acceptable, yes, and tasers are highly encouraged. But, it's quite against Arkham protocol for a guard to carry around a loaded gun."

"Is the bullet still in the wound?"

Edward shot a smug look in the Scarecrow's direction. "Yes, it is, Doctor. You're going to have to remove it, though, aren't you?"

"Most likely... How long ago was this?"

The Riddler cut Dr. Waters' hands and legs free. "About twelve hours ago. He acted fine initially. But, then he didn't listen to _me_, and this happened."

The doctor stood up, rubbing his wrists to get used to moving them again. He made his way over to the table Jonathan was lying on. "Have you cleaned the wound at all?"

Jonathan was silent, so Edward answered, "He jumped into the bay early this morning. The salt might have done some good, but he hasn't even changed clothes yet. Those are the same pants he was wearing when he got shot. Personally, I think he's _begging_ for an infection." The Scarecrow remained still, giving no reaction.

"Alright," Dr. Waters said. "I'm going to need bandages, some alcohol, and some cotton or clean cloth..." Edward went to another table, searching for the items. He found the rubbing alcohol and a large amount of cotton pads. The bandages, however, were missing.

The Riddler frowned. "Jonathan, please tell me you have bandages."

Scarecrow never let his eyes leave the ceiling. "In the cabinet beneath the table against the wall." Then, he added, when the doctor's hands moved threateningly close to the wound, "Latex gloves are on that table. Put them on."

Edward returned to Dr. Waters and placed everything he'd asked for on the table. "And, I brought these tongs for you to remove the bullet with."

The doctor nodded. "Do you have any painkillers?"

Edward laughed darkly. "As if Jonathan Crane would ever want to kill pain..."

Dr. Waters pulled on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a piece of cotton, pouring alcohol over it. "This will sting a bit..."

A knock at the door caught The Riddler's attention, and he nodded in farewell to the operating doctor. "I'll be back by the time you're finished." Edward straightened his tie as he walked across the warehouse, into the office. He answered the door, "Good afternoon, gentlemen. Come in, come in. I assume you're here with the furniture company..." The Riddler spent the following hour directing clueless furniture-movers on where to place the furniture: "No, no, _no_! The couch _can't_ go there! That will mess up the whole room! Move it half a millimeter to the left, would you? Yes, yes, that's perfect! _Now_ the room is complete!" He wasn't entirely happy with the men by the time they left, but... They _were_ just brainless henchmen who'd lost favor with The Joker and had been forced to take up an 'honest' job with the local black-market furniture company. At least Edward didn't have to worry about killing them to get them to keep quiet about who was buying their furniture, should anyone ask. Money spoke to those types of men. Luckily,_ duty_ spoke to the best doctors. They just _had_ to heal people, no matter what. It was like a curse! Well, for _them_, anyway. It was a gift to everyone else.

Edward made his way back to the lab, just as the doctor left Jonathan to go looking for him. Dr. Waters stopped when he saw The Riddler approaching. Waters then proceeded to fill him in on the procedure, "I cleaned the wound and got the bullet out. There was some bone damage... Minimal, but... His bones seem to be exceptionally weak. I'm afraid the only thing to do is to wait for the bone to repair itself. My only concern is that his body will not have the spare energy needed to expend on repairing itself. Why, if you ask me, it's a miracle that he's alive at all. I've had patients come in, who'd been lost out in the wilderness for weeks with no food, nearly dying. His body suffers many of the symptoms of those patients. He is completely malnourished and dehydrated; I am, personally, astounded that he doesn't suffer from any disease that usually accompanies those conditions."

Edward nodded, not surprised that he, again, was right - this time about Jonathan's food problem. "So, you're giving doctor's orders to eat a lot?"

"Well, yes, he needs to be fed. And, more importantly, he needs to be hydrated. He looks to be in critical condition; if I were at the hospital, I would set him up with tubes to force nutrition into his body..."

"As amusing as that would be to see, we aren't in the hospital, Doctor. So, what, without leaving the comfort of _crime central_, do you suggest I do?"

"Make him drink as much water as possible. And, make sure he eats at least three meals a day. He should be alright with typical, average-citizen motor movement. He'll be fine with walking around this building, though it would probably help if he had a staff or cane or something of the sort."

Edward glanced down at the question-mark cane in his own hand. "Alright..."

"But, he should participate in absolutely no strenuous activity for the next two weeks. And, even after that, extreme caution should be used."

"Anything else I need to know?"

"Batman is going to know that Catwoman didn't kidnap me. He's not going to believe that evidence you planted for one second."

"Maybe. But, my dear friend, he isn't going to know who _did_ kidnap you. And, more importantly, he won't know _why_ that person wanted to frame Catwoman. The Bat will be stumped!"

"He'll figure it out. All of Gotham knows you, Riddler. You always leave clues. Batman will figure it out, and he'll save me. Then he'll put you back in Arkham." Dr. Waters changed his tone, trying to reason with the villain, "Arkham would be better for you than this place. Your friend would get proper medical treatment..."

"That shows what you know, Doctor. Arkham _has_ a fully-functioning hospital. That doesn't mean it takes the liberty of using it. If the doctors there cared half as much as you do about patients, don't you think Jonathan Crane would have been a permanent resident of the hospital? _They_ should have been feeding him through a tube. None of you outsiders really knows what goes on in Arkham, do you?"

Realizing he couldn't reason with The Riddler, the man repeated defensively, "Batman's going to save me!"

"_Batman_? Well, riddle me this, Doctor Waters: how can a man go about saving someone who is already dead?" Edward reached inside his jacket, brandished a gun, pointed it at the doctor's chest, and pulled the trigger. He returned the gun to its place and walked away, leaving the dying man. He stepped toward Jonathan. "Feeling any better yet?"

The Scarecrow was still gazing upward at the ceiling, as if he'd never looked away from it for the whole operation. A wool blanket was placed over most of his body. "Not really."

"He didn't say anything about the bullet hitting a nerve, so it's probably just blood-loss that's making the leg numb. However, he did say that you are going to have to eat. So, in the forty-three seconds, I've come up with a list of non-processed foods that are made from farm-based ingredients. Therefore, you have absolutely no reason to object to any one of them. For example, there are eggs. Not processed at all! They come straight from chickens, then go straight to the store."

"They have to be cooked."

"Yes, but I've already got some people coming to install a kitchen - and to remodel that bathroom."

"Do you have any idea how much money you are wasting? When the Bat finds this place, it will be just a useless building again."

"I'm not _wasting_ anything. If it's for _my_ own comfort, then the money is well-spent. Now, then... What about popcorn? Just normal popcorn without any salt or butter or additives. Corn kernels that are popped."

"As soon as you can buy any that doesn't have added ingredients."

"Fine. What about fruits? They're just as natural as vegetables, after all. But, they actually have calories."

Jonathan made a face.

"What? Are you _allergic_ to having energy or something? You know what, Jonathan? Even on your best days, I could easily overpower you. I don't personally ever choose to fight, and against most anyone else I would be useless. But, I can safely say that I weigh at least thirty pounds more than you, and _I_'_m_ just barely at a 'healthy' weight. Borderline underweight. And, I'm not really any taller than you. But, I do eat regularly, and, therefore, my body can produce _muscle_. I can force you to eat."

"I would love to see you _try_."

Edward scowled, caught in his bluff. "Fine! I won't _force_ you - mostly because I have a feeling that you _bite_, and I don't want to catch rabies. But, if you want to be able to go out and strike fear into the heart of Gotham ever again, then you're going to have to eat. So, which is more important to you, Jonathan: pride or fear?" The Scarecrow made no response. "Alright. I'm going to the store to buy some things. You sort yourself out while I'm gone." The Riddler left. He returned to the hideout a few hours later, carrying a few bags of assorted fruits and vegetables. "Alright, Jonathan, I bought some things. Will you eat tomatoes? I know they're actually fruits, but people considered them vegetables for a long time..." No reply. So, Edward sat on the couch, reading one of his mystery novels for a while. Around midnight, he went to bed.

The next day, the power was working and so was the plumbing. The oven and refrigerator were installed, along with a kitchen sink and some counters. Jonathan wouldn't speak or touch any food offered to him. Edward watched the news. The Joker had disrupted a movie by blasting into a movie theater earlier that day. Edward went to bed.

He woke up and went to the grocery store again. He bought milk, cheese, eggs, and some meat, then returned to the hideout and put everything into the fridge. He fried some eggs, but Jonathan wouldn't touch them. The bathroom remodelers arrived and started working on the bathroom. They pulled up all the tile and put up wallpaper. Edward watched the news, where The Joker had somehow managed to escape police, even when they'd had him surrounded. Edward went to bed.

As soon as he got out of bed, Edward cooked some eggs. He took them to Jonathan and set them down beside him. Then he left. The remodeling continued. The old sink and toilet were replaced. The installation of the shower began. Edward watched the news and saw that the police were arresting twenty-three Blackgate escapees who had been located just outside the city. Edward went to bed, hoping that his father had been taken back to prison.

The next morning, Edward took Jonathan some eggs and discovered that the plate he'd left the day before was half-empty. Jonathan said nothing. Edward replaced the previous day's plate with the new one and left, feeling a bit triumphant. The shower was finished, and the tile was installed. The remodeling was complete. That night, Edward cut up a cucumber and a tomato and put the slices in a bowl. He took the bowl to the lab and set it down next to the plate of partially-eaten eggs. He then refilled the almost-empty bottles of water. He picked up the plate of eggs before he left and said, "I know you've moved, Jonathan. Your head is where your feet were this morning. Has the bleeding stopped?" No answer. Edward made himself a sandwich and watched the news. Harley Quinn had escaped Arkham. Surprise, surprise. Edward went to bed.

The Riddler only fixed one egg for Jonathan the following morning. He peeled an orange and arranged the pieces of it on the plate. He carried it into the lab and set it on the table. He almost turned to leave, but Jonathan's voice stopped him, "I think the bleeding is done."

"Good," Edward said. "I'll go buy you some new clothes, then. I need to buy you a cane, anyway. I can't leave mine with you all the time. Can you think of anything else you want?" The Scarecrow didn't appear to have anything more to say than his one comment. "Alright. I'll buy some more bandages, then. Try to eat, and I'll be back soon!" The Riddler left to go search for everything on his mental list. He found a sturdy wooden cane and a suit that he liked at one store... But, Jonathan Crane wasn't really the type to wear a suit like that. So, The Riddler bought the cane and went to another shop to look for Scarecrow-wear. Unfortunately, it didn't appear that anyone else in the world wanted to dress like a scarecrow: there was absolutely nothing to be found that resembled any of Jonathan's costumes. But, Edward reasoned, the clothes would only be temporary, anyway. Jonathan would probably sew himself a new outfit when he was feeling better. So, Edward fought against his instincts and bought a few cheap t-shirts, two pairs of sweatpants, and a pair of jeans. Edward Nigma, personally, would never be caught dead in such outfits, but... He figured the Scarecrow wouldn't really care. So, he made his last stop at a medical-supply store and bought a few rolls of medical gauze, then he went back to the hideout. "I'm back," he announced, entering the laboratory. "And, I brought some things..." He dug into one of the bags, taking out a t-shirt and some sweatpants. "I assumed that these clothes would be very temporary, so I just bought something that you might find comfortable. Why don't you go take a shower and change into these? And, I can re-wrap the wound, if you'd like. I bought a bunch of gauze." He waited for a response that never came. "...Well, I'll leave you to it, then." The Riddler returned to the office-portion of the warehouse and made himself some lunch. He sat down on the couch and opened one of his books.

Jonathan took a quick, cold shower but left the water running after he got out so that The Riddler wouldn't think he was already finished. He picked up the needle he'd snuck into the bathroom, and he threaded it, turning his attention to the wound on his hip. It was healing slowly on its own, but Jonathan Crane didn't have time for 'slowly'. He pushed the needle into the thin skin and began stitching up the skin tissue. He hissed as the needle made contact with bone, but he continued his stitches, anyway. As the needle pulled through its last stitch, he reached for the scissors and snipped the thread. He then grabbed the bandage roll and began binding the wound - and much of his un-wounded skin. He couldn't just bandage a wound that was on his hip, so he ended up wrapping most of the gauze around his waist and right hip to keep the wound on his _left_ hip covered. Of all the places to be shot, he _had_ to get hit in one of the least convenient places. Perhaps he should have been thankful that the bullet hadn't hit a bit higher, where it would have, most likely, zipped right through his large intestine... But, Jonathan Crane was hardly ever thankful for anything. Jonathan slipped on a pair of brown sweatpants and a plain grey t-shirt. Then he opened the door, carrying out all of his wound-treatment supplies.

Edward flipped through his novel, only noting the bits of information that were related to the murderer in the story - all those bits about the other characters were unimportant, anyway. The only reason mystery stories were so long was that the writer spent the whole book trying to shift blame onto others when the culprit was already _obvious_ to a reader with half a brain... Edward looked up when he heard the Scarecrow approaching, wooden cane in hand. But, the first thing that Edward noticed was naturally nothing to do with Jonathan's condition. The first thing that escaped Edward's lips was: "_What_ were you thinking? A _grey_ shirt and _brown_ pants? Brown and grey don't go together!"

Unfazed, Scarecrow limped to the couch, sitting down. "You bought both."

"Yes, I bought both! But, not together! The grey shirt goes with the _jeans_. Anyone would know that! Are you just _looking _for ways to drive me completely up the wall?"

"Probably," Jonathan answered, not helping Edward's poor, dear, criminally OCD-haunted head.

"I can't even _look_ at you! Those colors don't coordinate! They don't match! They don't coordinate or match or, or _anything_! They just don't _go_!"

Jonathan, who was apparently in a much better mood than earlier thanks to The Riddler's inability to function around such an obviously mismatched outfit, glanced at the novel on the couch. "Who killed them?"

"What?," Edward asked, drawn away for a moment from the horrible outfit. "Oh, it was the judge."

Jonathan picked up the book, which was open to a page not too far into the book... "You're only on Chapter Three."

"Well, for some of us with greatly superior intellect, it is simply immediately obvious who is responsible."

"_Really_? ...Because for 'some of us', namely myself, who enjoy literature immensely... Especially literature such as this, in which a rhyme is one of the main plot devices..." Jonathan closed the cover of the book, deciding not to be too long-winded. "I've read an enormous amount of books in my lifetime, but, as it is, this happens to be one of my favorites. And, I happen to know that, at Chapter Three, you have barely even met the characters; you certainly do not have enough incriminating evidence to convict someone so surely."

The corner of Edward's mouth began to twitch dangerously, but he replied calmly, "Maybe when _you_ read it, _you_ can't find enough evidence until later, but _I_ have the greatest detective mind in the world! And, _I_ find the evidence _easily_."

"Then do enlighten me on what evidence you've found."

The Riddler froze: he hadn't counted on being questioned over the book. But, then he supposed, he should have known that any book involving a rhyme heavily in its plot would have appealed to the Scarecrow. "...Well, it's just _obvious_, of course."

"I disagree."

Edward exhaled loudly, pretending to be bored. In reality, he was trying to buy all the time he could to muster an argument. With only one idea, though, he decided he would simply hope that a long time had passed since Jonathan had actually looked at the book carefully. "Well, the voice says that the judge is trapped on the island because he wrongly convicted a criminal and sentenced the man to death. That would be the easiest mistake in judgement for someone on the outside to make - which means that the man was probably actually guilty, and the judge was just including himself on the list of murderers so that he would escape suspicion."

"You don't think _anyone _there could have made his or her own story up to escape suspicion?"

"Of course not! It was the judge!," Edward insisted.

Jonathan paused for a moment, taking a moment to soak up the anger that masked the fear in The Riddler's mind. Then he released the accusation that he'd been withholding for just the right moment, "You always do _know_ the right answers, Edward. But, contrary to what you'd have people believe, it is not because you have great intellect. It is because you _cheat_." Scarecrow picked the book, And Then There Were None, up from its place, opening it to the last few pages. "As anyone who reads a mystery novel knows, it is almost _mandatory_ for mysteries to have a last chapter that highlights who the culprit was. This particular book's entire last chapter is a letter, from the killer - Justice Wargrave -, _admitting _that he killed everyone on the island."

Edward didn't miss the Scarecrow's accusation, but he couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "No! That's not true: he didn't kill the last girl. She killed herself!"

"_Cheater_."

"I'm not a cheater! I'm smart! I'm a genius!"

"_You're a liar._"

The Riddler jumped up from the couch, holding his head, but he focused his thoughts on self-control. He tried to push the crazed denials out of his mind, grasping to the civilized man that he knew he was inside.

"_Nothing but a liar and a cheater..._"

Edward took a few breaths, doing his best to slow his heartbeat. And, somehow, he managed to keep, _I'm not a cheater! I'm not a liar!_, inside his head. But, not all of his thoughts could be silenced. "You, Jonathan Crane, are the most un-thankful person on the face of this planet! I have been taking care of you for a week because you got yourself shot - not my fault, but I helped, anyway! I got a doctor for you, I let you use my cane to walk around with, and, yet, you wouldn't even _speak_ to me for days because you were unhappy that I was actually trying to make you _eat_ - apparently one of the Seven Deadly Sins, according to you! Then when you finally do speak to me it's just trying to prey on fears that I've had since childhood! You might think it's amusing to see me reduced to nothing, Jonathan, but it's not amusing to me! I'll never understand why you think it's perfectly acceptable to bring my worst nightmares back to life! It'd be one thing if we were enemies, but we're _not_, Jonathan! I have _no_ desire to make you my enemy! If you have some sort of _need_, like other people have hunger and thirst - if you have a _need _to scare people, then just tell me! I'll go pluck some unfortunate soul from the streets of Gotham and bring him here! But, you are _not_ going to try to scare _me_ anymore, Jonathan! Alright?" Tirade at an end, Edward sank back down onto the couch.

The Scarecrow eyed him for a few quiet moments. But, the Master of Fear was far more amused than remorseful. Not that it was a choice of his... He simply didn't possess a single ounce of remorse in his body. That was what made his fascination with fear _possible_. And, Edward's outburst certainly was a way to try and take focus off the fear so obviously being experienced... Still, as the situation stood, Edward Nigma was more powerful as an ally. For the moment.

The Riddler sighed, picking up his cup of coffee from the endtable beside the arm of the couch. He took a drink, then, unable to stand the silence any longer, asked, "So, should I go find you a victim or what?"

"Not right now. Some water would suffice."

"Alright," Edward said, getting up. He walked over to the kitchen area, taking a cup out of the cabinet and putting ice in it. "Where did your bird go, by the way? I haven't seen it."

"Crows are wild animals, not house pets. He will return if he needs something, if he finds something out, or if I call him."

"If he finds something out?" Edward turned the handle on the sink and held his hand under the water, waiting for it to get cold.

"Yes. Something of importance."

"Importance... So either something to do with fear or _Batman_?" Satisfied that the water had grown cold enough, Edward filled the cup with water and shut the faucet off.

"Yes, one of the two."

The Riddler made his way back over to the couch, handing the water to Scarecrow. "You said you got the bird when you were young, didn't you? How long do crows live?"

"You'd be surprised at how long anything lives in the most optimum conditions. _And at how short anything lives in the worst conditions._"

Edward nodded thoughtfully, reaching for his coffee. He took a small sip and noticed... The coffee was much sweeter than it had been before. Instantly, he put the cup down and put a hand to his throat. "You...!"

"Calm yourself. You'd need to drink at least half the cup if you expected that to kill you."

"I can't believe you just did that! You tried to _poison _me? After that whole speech I just gave? Really?"

"I did warn you ahead of time."

"Yeah, _days_ ahead of time! Long enough ago to convince me that you were kidding!"

"Well, obviously, the warning was fairly fresh in your mind," Scarecrow said, taking a drink of water. "Or else you wouldn't have figured it out so quickly. Despite what I have told you for the past week, and despite what I am going to continue to tell you for the remainder of our time working together, you are not a _total_ idiot, Edward Nigma. Your many, many fears don't necessarily work against you; instead, they make you more cautious, and, in a way, wisely paranoid."

Edward tilted his head. "If I'm not mistaken, that's the second compliment from you I've gotten in a week, Scarecrow. That's _got_ to be a record!"

"You take everything that anyone says about your strengths as a compliment. And, you take all compliments personally. _That_ is a weakness."

"That was a paradox; I hope you realize that."

"Just because a statement doesn't at first appear to make since that doesn't mean that it does not."

"As The Riddler, I can appreciate your observations, Jonathan. As a normal person, I'd be utterly lost as to what in the world you're trying to say. Luckily, am not in the position of the latter, and I understand completely what you mean." Edward glanced at the wooden cane that was leaning against the couch. "Does your leg look any better?"

"It's fine."

"Well, I would assume it's alright, since you can walk on it, at least. I've done a little bit of research, actually. You should be able to be back to normal in another week and a half if you eat well and walk around on it a bit everyday. And, I think that's about the time we can schedule our first heist, since most of those Blackgate guys are back in prison..."

The Scarecrow watched Edward with a steady gaze. "And The Joker?"

"Oh, well, he's just broken Harley out... So, they'll be back in Arkham within the next month."

"What happened to," Jonathan cleared his throat, making his voice a bit lower and more self-important: " 'I mean, we want Gotham's attention, don't we? We can't strike while those others are still at large! We'll be all but ignored! Can you imagine doing all that hard work to break out of Arkham, then being overshadowed by other criminals, and _still_ having to go back? Why, that hardly seems fair!' "

"That's... actually a pretty good impression of me. You could have been an _actor_..."

"Edward," Jonathan said impatiently, his voice back to its usual tone.

"Right, sorry. Well, it's just that the Bat will be much less-likely to catch us, if we strike while The Joker's still at large... And, if Joker has Harley go hit some other place as a distraction for him, then that will give _us_ **two** distractions! Batman's not going to come after us when he's got Harley and The Joker to worry about! And, if Catwoman does something, we'll practically be able to waltz right into the Gotham City PD and _wave_ at the Commissioner and be ignored! We could steal millions by the time anyone has a chance to actually try and stop us! Just think of what you could do with millions of dollars' worth of your fear toxin! By the time Batman comes after us, we'll be unstoppable!"

"In other words, now that you believe your father is back in Blackgate, you take back everything you said earlier."

"Pretty much, yes."

"Fine. I'm still going to need chemicals, now, though."

"In your condition, I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be working with a bunch of chemicals."

"My research is what keeps me _alive_."

"You know, under other circumstances, I'd fight that. But, since you should, logically, be dead due to lack of food and water, I'm going to accept that answer." The Riddler picked his hat up off the endtable, placing it on his head. "I'm going to need a list of what you need, then, since you can't go out like that."

"Like what?," Scarecrow asked. "_Injured_? I'm fine! I can walk."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. I meant you can't go out wearing those clothes."


	9. Ready

9. Ready

"I still don't understand how the toxin works, Jonathan. I mean, Joker's laughing gas is understandable, since various drugs make people insanely happy... Ivy's pheromone dust-stuff makes sense, because she's just utilizing and amplifying the power of pheromones, which already exist in the animal kingdom... But, a toxin that induces hallucinations of a victim's worst fear? Now, _that_ doesn't make any sense. I mean, Joker and Ivy are both aiming for the same effects for everyone they administer their concoctions to. But, how can a toxin effectively change the form it affects the mind in, depending on its victim's worst fear?"

The Scarecrow continued mixing his chemicals together carefully. Precisely fifty-three stirs to the left... Two stirs to the right... And, then... He lit the Bunsen burner that was sitting on the lab table and held the vial over the fire for a few moments.

"Jonathan? Are you even listening?" Edward shook his head. "Oh, who am I kidding? Of course you are. You _listen_ to everything; you just don't have the grace to _respond_."

Jonathan removed the vial from the fire and set it on the table to cool before answering boredly, "Well, a normal person would have stopped after the first time he'd asked that question and had been ignored." He picked up a beaker and poured the contents of the vial into it. "A persistent person might have repeated the question two, three, maybe four times." He added exactly three drops of a reddish chemical then put a rubber stopper in the top of the beaker. "But, only you would pace around this room, repeating that entire paragraph twelve times and ending each time with the same question, without realizing that I have no intention of answering." He swirled the chemicals in the beaker around then took the stopper out. He caught a drop of the liquid on his finger and tasted it, looking thoughtful.

"You can _ingest_ it?" The Riddler's eyes widened curiously. "What does it taste like?"

"Fear."

Edward rolled his eyes, mumbling, "I could have guessed as much," before returning to his stroll around the room. He thought aloud, "I wonder how the folks in Arkham are doing..."

"I don't intend to find out any time soon."

"Neither do I, of course! I'm not going back there! But, just think: half of our activity group is gone. You and I left, and then Harley... Jervis had to switch groups... Really, all that are left are the 'exercising' ones I never associated with, anyway - Croc and some other guys... Then Ivy's the only one left of our _cerebral_ group. I guess they'll have to move Jervis back soon, though. And, then they'll probably switch someone else into the group. Maybe The Ventriloquist."

"If they switch anyone into the group, then when we do return to Arkham, the groups will all be different."

"Well, naturally. There's no way you and I will be in the same group because that just 'would be completely counterintuitive to therapy': I can almost hear the doctors, now..." The Riddler sighed. "But, then again, Harley and Ivy are always put together, even after that last crime spree they went on..."

"Yes, but they are also women. In a predominantly male facility. Naturally, doctors, judges, juries, women's rights activists... are all going to insist that they should be kept together for purposes of 'protecting' themselves."

"Ha, as if anyone would dare touch Harley! The Joker would murder anyone who tried! And, a man would have to be stupid - and deaf - to go after Ivy. If he somehow got past all of her shrieking about plants' rights, he'd have to face the wrath of rabid, carnivorous tulips!"

Scarecrow set a finished beaker of toxin aside and grabbed a new vial, starting the process of creating his fear gas over again.

"The more I think about it, the more I don't want to go back to Arkham..." Edward's stroll brought him right back to the table Jonathan was working at. "My _God_ - how many times do you have to brew this? Wouldn't it be easier just to brew a bunch all at once!"

"As soon as you buy me a wizard's hat and a cauldron, I'll consider it. Until then, let me continue my work in silence."

"Fine, fine, fine," Edward chanted, raising his hands up in defeat. "What do you want for lunch? A sandwich? Remember, you promised me you'd think about trying one yesterday!"

"Thought considered and denied."

Edward narrowed his eyes. "Well, _good_!," The Riddler yelled as he traipsed his way to the kitchen. "You're not allowed to eat the bread, anyway! It's _mine_!"

"Really, Edward, I'm a psychology major. Reverse psychology is not going to work on me."

"How do you know it's reverse psychology? Maybe I'm using techniques that were made up _after_ your time, old man! Maybe I'm implementing reverse-reverse psychology! Or reverse-reverse-reverse psychology! Or reverse-reverse-reverse-rever-..."

"_Just make the damn sandwich, would you?_"

Genuine surprise sketched itself into Edward Nigma's face. Then that surprise switched to a childish sort of glee. "Ooh, did Jonathan Crane just use a _cuss word_? That's not like you at all, Scarecrow! What about all of your nursery rhymes? What would the little _children_ think?"

"_Leave me to my work._"

Edward smirked, opening the fridge and taking out a tomato and some lettuce. He untwisted the tie from a loaf of wheat bread and took out two slices of it. "Hey," he called out, "I know you're going to think I'm just finding excuses to bother you - since usually that's exactly what I'm doing -, but what do you want on your sandwich?" The Riddler was not surprised that there was no response; so, he decided just to experiment.

Jonathan tapped the vial in his hand, trying to rid the chemical of air bubbles. Satisfied, he opened another beaker and poured the contents of the vial into it. "_One hundred twenty-six doses complete_," he breathed, placing the beaker along the table, lining it up with the others.

Edward tossed the knife he'd used into the sink. He picked up the sandwich plate and carried it, along with a bag of tortilla chips, into the lab. "So, what'd I miss?" Naturally, he was not given a reply. "...Anything?...Alright, then. Exactly how much of that toxin are you planning on making?"

"_Enough for the university president and his board. And a few doses each for the Batlings._"

"What about Bat_man_?"

"_He will wear a mask._"

"Ha! What makes you say that? He's never prepared for surprises like this!"

"_But, will it be a surprise?_," Scarecrow half-asked, half-stated.

"What is _that_ supposed to mean? You think I can't keep secrets?"

Jonathan began to pack away his chemicals. "I _know_ you cannot. If you could keep things secret, Edward, then you would never have been arrested and sent to Arkham in the first place. That is the majority of your issue."

The Riddler frowned, placing his hand on the table in front of Jonathan, barring the Scarecrow from his chemicals. "You act as if I'm entirely _useless_, _Professor_. Do you realize how invaluable a mind such as mine is?"

Jonathan Crane sneered at the man between himself and his chemicals. "_Speak or move._"

"I'll choose the first option, thank you," Edward answered, leaning against the table. "I'm _saying_ that I've already thought up the plan. You see, I started thinking about it when you said that Batman would think that you would have me killed... Well, obviously, no one would ever suspect the two of us working together, then, right? _Sooo_, I come up with a riddle and have it delivered to the Batman, leading him to the university... But, with The Joker and Harley and Catwoman all still at large..."

The Scarecrow sat back in his chair, never letting a bit of emotion seep into his face. "_The Bat considers you one of the less... deadly... of Arkham's inmates_."

The Riddler grimaced. "For reasons completely unknown to me. But, yes. For some reason, he does. And, the odds of either Joker or Catwoman hitting a place the same night that we have planned for the school are extremely high. Naturally, The Bat can't be in two places at one time... So, he sends the little bats after _me_." His eyes brightened considerably. "Imagine the surprise for little Robin and Batgirl when they show up only to be faced with my riddles and_ your_ fear toxin!" He raised one of his hands, clenching his fist: "We'll _crush_ their incompetent, tiny minds!" Edward laughed maliciously. "And, then, when they're trembling in confusion, in terror, screaming for their mentor's help, screaming for mercy..."

"_We crush __**them**__._"

"That's right: no more meddlesome underlings involved. Just us... And, Batman. No more fights with the odds stacked in _His_ favor. No more stupid Batgirl to pop into fights unexpectedly, to turn the tide of battle... No more Robin to help solve puzzles or to swing in and stop a vial of fear toxin from causing chaos to erupt throughout Gotham... Think of all the times we've been thwarted - and only because the Bat stacked the fights! We'll end it all!" Edward grinned. "What do you think?"

Jonathan chose a spot on the wall to stare at. "I prefer my own plan."

The Riddler's expression sank. "...Your plan?"

"Yes. My plan. You warn no one about our plans for Gotham University. No one shows up to stop us. No confrontation whatsoever. Because you leave no riddle."

"Yes, that _is_ a lovely thought, dear Dr. Crane. But, there is absolutely no way that is happening. I already have my riddle written and ready! I have to show the clue to the Bat! I've already waited _weeks_ for this! My plan is brilliant, Jonathan! There isn't a flaw in it!" Edward stomped his feet angrily. "Why do you have to protest everything I say? Don't argue with me! It's brilliant! **I'm brilliant**!"

"I never argued a thing. I simply stated a preference, Edward." Jonathan folded his hands, moving his gaze from the wall. "On a sidenote, you suffer from the same lack of anger management skills as do many toddlers and/or young, spoiled children. Do you have a history of tantrums?"

Edward growled, moving from the table to sit down in a chair a few feet away; he took the bag of chips with him. He muttered through a mouthful of chips, "On a sidenote, you suffer from the same lack of eating skills as do many cheerleaders and/or models..."

Jonathan returned to putting away his chemicals. "I would think of more insulting comparisons, were I trying to make a point there."

"Oh, shut up! I didn't say you _look_ like a model! Far from! You're a corpse! Your skin is the color of a dead person's, your hair is _screaming_ for conditioner, your eyes are just empty voids, your nails need to be cut, your arms are about as thick as twigs, your face is too small, your veins show through your skin - which is as dry as a desert, may I add... You're the most hideous creature I've seen in my life, Scarecrow! And, I've met all sorts of freaks - Croc, Joker, Zsasz, Two-Face... You beat them all!"

Jonathan Crane closed his eyes for a moment. "...Thank you, Edward. For telling me again what I was told multiple times by multiple people, daily, for twelve years of my life."

The Riddler, glad to have _finally_ hit a nerve, ventured further, "You're not _still_ told that?"

"_How could I be_?"

Edward considered Jonathan's response for a moment, registering what he meant. "...What happened to them?"

"_One died in an unfortunate car accident. Another, in the same accident, is paralyzed for life. Various accidents have taken the lives of others._.."

"...Accidents..." Edward repeated the word aloud. "You... said earlier that your grandmother died... the day you graduated high school... Was that one of those accidents?"

"_No, that was an on-purpose._"

"The _day_ you graduated high school? My God, have you spent your _whole life_ in Arkham?"

"You're asking me about my past again."

"Yes, well, maybe I wouldn't be so interested if you didn't keep everything such a secret! Is it really that big of a deal, Jonathan? You know my story! Most of the inmates do - or, they know the major details, anyway. And, everyone knows about Harley's past, and Two-Face's, and Croc's... What are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing."

"You know," Edward taunted, "many people think you're just a rip-off of The Joker. You're interested in the same things: fear and chaos... You keep your past a secret, just like he does..."

"I don't _lie_ about my past."

The Riddler watched the irritated expression on Jonathan Crane's face for a moment, his thoughts taking him to another subject... "What _are_ your thoughts on The Joker, Jonathan? No one knows about him or his past, but, then again, only Arkham's stupid doctors have been given the chance to diagnose him..."

Jonathan Crane's voice seemed to raise itself up half an octave. "You wish to ask about another patient?"

Edward raised an eyebrow at Jonathan's suddenly higher voice."Yes?"

"Patient's name?"

"I don't kno-," The Riddler stopped himself before that horrid phrase could leave his mouth. He cleared his throat, then repeated the name that Arkham had given The Joker, "Jack Napier."

"Oh, I'm sorry, that file is confidential. Of course, if you'd like to speak directly to the doctor..."

Edward wasn't really confused: he could _never_ be confused! Puzzled. That was what he was. Puzzled. Being puzzled was allowed for The Riddler, after all. "Jonathan? What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry. No one here goes by that name."

"Crane, really, do you have to..."

"You wish to speak to Doctor Crane? In that case, I can make you an appointment..."

_Oh, so we're speaking in third-person, now._ Edward threw his bag of chips on the floor, answering sarcastically, "He didn't need an appointment a few days ago when he decided to psycho-analyze me without my consent..."

Ignoring that comment, the high voice continued, "I believe he is free on the twenty-fourth of December at four o' clock."

"Lovely. Christmas Eve at four. So, I only have to wait... What, four months? Tell Doctor Crane that his scheduling service _sucks_."

"_I know an old woman who lived in a shoe. _

_She had so many children, she didn't know what to do. _

_She gave them some broth but gave them no bread. _

_And she beat them and whipped them and put them to bed._"

The Riddler resisted the urge to walk over and whack the Scarecrow in the head. Never, _never_ could there be a normal civilized conversation between them. It was just impossible! "Alright, Jonathan, you just keep singing your little songs, then. Who cares about the fact that tonight Batman is going to know all about our plans? Who cares about the fact that tomorrow, we might wake up here and go to sleep back in Arkham? Just trivial things in comparison to your nonsense!"

" _'Who killed Cock Robin?'_

_'I,' said the Sparrow,_

_'With my bow and arrow,_

_I killed Cock Robin_.' "

"Alright, fine, it's not nonsense. It means things, I know. It's just annoying when you burst into rhyme all of a sudden when I'm trying to talk to you!"

" _'Who saw him die?'_

_'I,' said the Fly,_

_'With my little eye,_

_I saw him die.' _"

Edward stood up, stepping toward the table. He picked up a beaker of the red, liquid fear toxin. He sighed, "Soon..."

The Scarecrow watched carefully as his beloved, toxic mixture was lifted from the safety of the tabletop. " _'Who killed Cock Robin?'_," he repeated before answering himself,

"_ 'I,' said the Scarecrow, _

_'Breaking flesh and marrow,_

_I killed Cock Robin.' _"

The Riddler placed the beaker back on the surface of the table. " 'Said the Scarecrow'? So, now, you're taking all the credit? It's _my _plan!"

"I will gladly use your name, as well, as soon you come up with the rhyme." Jonathan's voice was back to normal.

"How lazy and selfish can you be? Only thinking of a rhyme for your_self_! It's not that hard to consider other people once in a while!"

"Perhaps you should have thought of that when coming up with your own name."

Edward rolled his eyes. "What do you mean? 'I,' said The Riddler, 'With...the... diddler...biddler... kiddler...fiddler... spiddler...' Alright, I see where this is going." Edward didn't miss the smug look that crossed Jonathan's face. "Shut up! I'll think of something. Just eat your sandwich!" He picked up his cane and walked away. "I'm going to hack the news' network or something. That food had better be gone when I get back!"

"Or what?," Jonathan asked himself as he heard the door slam shut. Normally, Jonathan probably wouldn't even have touched the food - if not just to spite Edward. But, as it was, the Scarecrow wasn't really in the mood to deal with Edward's nagging the night before their big heist. Besides, Edward's whines and tantrums and shouts never seemed to center around the exact thing that made him angry. No, if Edward started one of his fits... say, because Jonathan didn't eat a sandwich... then Edward would begin a lecture about how under-appreciated he was and how special that sandwich was and how he'd never be able to eat another sandwich or look at another sandwich or even talk about sandwiches ever again because all sandwiches would remind him of the great Uneaten Sandwich. And, quite frankly, the Scarecrow did not want to be face-to-face with any one of the members of the Bat-family with Edward rambling all the while about how life is like a whole sandwich - _under-appreciated_ and _uneaten_ by most of the world, despite all the hard work and effort that was put into making it... In fact, Scarecrow was quite certain that The Riddler's speech would be almost exactly that. Oh, fun. No.

So, Jonathan forced himself to take a few bites of the food. He ate less than half of it but decided that would suffice. He limped out of his laboratory and settled himself onto the couch, stealing one of Edward's books from the coffee table.

Edward rehearsed his speech a few times to himself before he turned the camera on. He made certain that his coat and tie were straight and that his posture was perfect. Then he began. "Greetings, Gotham City! The Riddler here, wanting you to know that the reign of idiocy is at an end. You hear that, Batman? I'd hit the books and study a while, if I were you. I'd hate to see what would happen to State if you fail!" There. The Bat would certainly figure that one out! All that was left was to hope that The Joker was feeling particularly villainous the next night. And, to hack the news channel, of course, and air the video of the clue.

It was a little after five o' clock when The Riddler waltzed back into the hideout. Jonathan was lying on the couch, arms across his chest - almost like a mummy. He could easily have been mistaken for dead. Edward thought about waking him up but decided first to see if the sandwich was gone. Upon seeing the somewhat-eaten food, Edward decided to let Jonathan sleep for a while. After all, they would have to stay up all night the next night if they were going to strike the university... And, Jonathan probably needed all those nights in Arkham when he'd never slept... Really, he hadn't slept much since they'd broken _out _of Arkham, either... Never, actually, that Edward had noticed. Jonathan was always either working with his chemicals or lying around, doing nothing. Occasionally, he would find a book to read. But, sleeping was something new. A moment passed, and Edward wondered if Jonathan ever had dreams. Or if the only dreams he could ever have were other peoples' nightmares.


	10. Riddles

10. Riddles

"Good morning, Jonathan - that is, if you believe in good mornings. Which I'm sure you don't. In which case, I'll rephrase my first greeting to simply: 'It's morning, Jonathan.' Better?" Edward opened the refrigerator and took out a carton of orange juice, pouring some into a glass. "By the way, I had a thought last night... Well, many thoughts, but a single one pertaining to you... You still need to make another costume. And, you're going to need it by tonight. I assume you have some material somewhere around here?"

"I'll find something."

"If you _touch_ the upholstery on the couch, or the curtains on the two windows, or the sheets on my bed - any of those - then I will set your hair on fire and dump you in a vat of gasoline, Jonathan."

"And, then, I'm sure you and the flying monkeys can all go celebrate. Be careful around water, though."

"I'm serious, Jonathan!"

"And, you think the Witch of the West was joking?"

"Don't touch my furniture! Or furnishings! Or decorations! Nothing, okay? Just make something quickly out of whatever junk you have lying around! That's usually about what your costumes look like, anyway... A bunch of random pieces of cloth sewn together. Do you even have a sewing machine?"

"I prefer hand-sewing."

"You're going to be working all day, if you hand-sew a whole outfit!"

"I already have a mask."

Edward sighed in frustration. "Have you already made all the toxin? You don't need to make more for tonight, do you?"

"All one hundred twenty-six doses must be transferred to vials."

"Vials? What are they in, now?"

"Beakers, of course."

"They were all in vials when you were making them! Why didn't you just leave them there?"

"The shape of the glass makes the chemicals settle differently."

"That doesn't make sense! That logic goes against everything anyone who knows a thing about chemistry has ever been taught!"

"Do not question me, Edward. You said yourself yesterday that the effects of my toxin are difficult to comprehend - even for The Riddler. Why shouldn't the brewing of it be just as abstract?"

"Alright, you know what? This once, just because you're the expert here, I'm going to listen to you and put up with your ridiculous demands. I'll switch all the doses to vials. But, don't expect me to carry any of them tonight! That's your job! So, why don't you _hand_-sew one hundred twenty-six pockets on the inside of a jacket? That way you can carry them around? Or is that too ridiculous even for you?" Edward gulped down the last bit of orange juice and put the glass in the sink.

"Of course it is. I only need one hundred sixteen pockets. The contents of ten of the vials will be transferred to the syringes on my glove."

Edward groaned, "Oh... Fine! I'm going to take a shower, and then I'm going to go hiring! About how many men do you think we might need? Two? Four? Twelve?"

"_Thirteen_."

"Ha-_ha._ Funny. I'm going to go with four, since that's the safest bet. We'll only need them in case something goes wrong, after all. And, what are the odds of that happening?" The Riddler turned away. "I'll work on your 'vial' project when I get home. But, remember: touch anything of mine, and you die!"

"_Terrified_."

"You're certainly talkative this morning. I didn't expect a reply to the last three things I said. Are you always this way before a job?"

"If you are attempting to imply that I am nervous about the operation tonight, then you are sorely mistaken."

"Really? You sure?" Edward smiled mischeviously. "You sure you're not _scared_ that we might end up back in Arkham?"

"How would we?"

"Well, if something goes wrong, and Batman's there... You and I both know we can't outrun the Bats."

"I don't have to outrun them. Just you and the hired help. Which I have no doubt in my ability to do."

"Right... Actually, that reminds me: do you have a gun, Jonathan? Or do I need to pick up one or something? You know... We always need weapons for emergencies."

"No," Jonathan answered nonchalantly. "I have an old scythe I can use."

"Oh... Even better, then. I'll just let you go all-out-farmer on everyone. Why don't you take some lettuce to throw at people, too? Projectile vegetables! For extra defense."

"When you die, would you rather it be from a bullet through some vital organ _or from a curved blade slicing off your head_?"

Instinctively, Edward's hand went to his neck, imagining the second option. "Point taken... But, for future reference, I'd prefer just to die of poison."

"_Well, you've already missed that opportunity_."

Edward's smile disappeared altogether. He probably should have been getting used to the constant death threats... But, the fact that Jonathan had actually followed through with the poisoning made Edward a bit anxious about the scythe remark. "Yes, well... As I said earlier, I'm going to take a shower. Work on your costume. We have to be ready to leave here by eight so that we can map out the grounds when we get there."

Neither of the super-criminals ate that morning. Jonathan was too busy cutting up a brown t-shirt that Edward had bought a few days before. And, when he was finished with that, he busied himself with cutting up an old burlap sack that had once been used to hold potatoes. He cut all the usable cloth away from his previous costume, as well, throwing away all the pieces that were caked in blood. And, then, he began to sew.

Edward, on the other hand, was out running errands. He had to stop by a shop and buy more ammunition for his pistol. Then he had to go find a few musclemen to help with the job that night. But, of course, he couldn't simply walk in and do what he went there to do. Instead, inside the sketchy place, he had to run into someone he knew. And, of all people he could have run into, it had to be Harley Quinn.

"Eddie, is that you? Eddie!" Actually, he hadn't even seen her beforehand. He had barely walked into the place when he was tackled by the crazy girl.

Edward struggled to keep her arms from strangling him in her hug-of-death. "Hello... Harley..."

As instantly as she'd tackled him, she released him from the hug. "Heya, Eddie! Whattaya doin' here?"

The Riddler tried to smooth out the wrinkles she'd created in his suit jacket. "Looking to hire some people for tonight." Then, only out of courtesy, he asked, "And, you?"

"Oh, I'm here scoutin' for Mistah Jay. Puddin' got mad last night, so... We're gonna need five or six guys to replace the old ones."

"I see..." Edward feigned a laugh. Harley's explanation reminded him of why he didn't mind working with the Scarecrow so much. At least Jonathan wasn't as unpredictable as The Joker... "Well, good luck with that."

"Wait, where ya goin'?"

"Hiring. We've already been over this, Harley."

"Oh, right... Sorry, I'm just happy to see ya! Ivy told me that... well... After you escaped, ya know... With Professah Crane... She thought you'd be..." Harley drew a finger across her neck. "Keh. Done for."

Edward's face blanched as he thought again about Jonathan's words. _..."a curved blade slicing off your head"... _

"Eddie? You alright?"

Edward nodded numbly. "Right now..."

"I told her she was wrong, but when we didn't see ya on TV with a riddle, I got worried... I shoulda known you can talk your way outta anything, though, Eddie!"

"Yes... I _am _The Riddler..."

"Um, ya sure yer okay? Ya look kinda pale..."

"I've... been inside almost constantly for the past few months is all. Not enough sunlight. It's finally catching up to me."

Harley nodded. "Okay... Um, see ya later, Eddie! Good luck with the break-in tonight!"

When Harley was gone, Edward quickly hired the first few men he saw. He directed them on where to go that night, and then he left. He walked down the street, not wanting to return to the hideout yet... He was thinking too much. He needed a direct course of action. And, the moment he spotted an old payphone, he made up his mind. He walked over to the phone and picked up the receiver, putting in some money. Then he dialed and waited. "...Yes, Operator? Could you put me through to a taxi service somewhere in Gotham City? It doesn't matter which one..."

Jonathan had almost finished sewing together his scraps of fabric to make the pants for his costume when Edward returned at about one o' clock in the afternoon. The first thing Edward did was grab a bag of chips to eat. When he was finished eating, he took off his green suit jacket so that it wouldn't be wrinkled from laboratory work and walked into the lab.

"How is the Scarecrow costume coming?," Edward asked, shuffling over to the table where over a hundred doses of fear toxin were encased in glass.

Immediately, Jonathan looked up. "Is there something you wish to tell me, Edward?"

"What?" Edward felt the blood rush to his cheeks. How did Jonathan know? _What_ did he know?

"You walked in ten minutes ago. You should have been back an hour ago. And, when you walked in, you didn't even come back here to annoy me for a second before eating. That is irregular behavior on your behalf."

"I thought you didn't like me to be annoying."

"I don't. Hence the word: annoying. But, since when does The Riddler consider what other people like?"

"Since now."

Jonathan continued his stitchwork, but his eyes followed Edward. "I see. And, what kept you the extra hour?"

"What does it matter to you? I'll finish transferring all of your precious toxin in time."

"Did something happen?"

"No, I just... Ran into Harley, okay? She..." He paused. "She asked me to babysit the dogs tonight. After the heist. I tried to get out of it, but I couldn't. I didn't volunteer you because you said you don't like animals. But, I kind of have to, since she's a friend..."

"You're going to watch the hyenas? You are giving up your own, personal time in order to do an unpleasant favor for someone else?"

"Yes."

"_I_ am a selfish man, Edward. Which is why I also recognize that _you_ are a man who is at least as selfish as I am."

"Are you joking? I could have ditched you when you were having leg issues, and you could have stayed here and died!"

"But, you didn't out of _guilt_."

"Maybe so, but selfish people don't have guilt."

"Considerate people don't plot to send someone to solitary confinement when he's done nothing wrong."

"I felt guilty about that, too, Jonathan! And, I apologized! And, you accepted my apology! So, you can't bring that up anymore!"

"Alright. But, you'll admit you're selfish."

"Not as selfish as you. But, I do things for myself a lot, yes. Still, that doesn't mean I can't do nice things for other people every once in a while!"

"I can tell that something's bothering you, Edward."

"Well, of course it's bothering me. I hate dogs. And, those hyenas are each as big as I am. I'll probably die!"

"At least you won't lose your head."

"..." Edward opened a beaker and poured its contents into a vial. He then repeated the action with a second beaker, and a third.

Jonathan watched, face expressionless. "That wasn't a threat, you know."

"What wasn't?"

"What I said earlier. I know you're paranoid. Severely. It's amusing to see, really. But, if you're going to become unbearably unpleasant, and if it's going to make you so nervous that you can't even properly function, then I'm going to tell you that you don't need to be concerned about me either shooting you _or_ trying to hack your head off. That's not going to happen. I don't have any reason to kill you, and I certainly wouldn't choose any method like that if I _were_ going to kill you. It's not cerebral at all."

"Really? Because it certainly got to my head. I haven't been able to _think_ properly, Jonathan!"

"And, you still aren't going to think properly because you're paranoid enough to think that I'm lying to you right now."

Edward set the beaker that was in his hand down on the counter. "Would you actually tell me if you were planning on killing me?"

"Yes. I would."

Edward put a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "I _want _to believe you...Jonathan. And, half of me does. But, what do you expect? From the first time I ever talked to you, you were trying to find out what I was afraid of! You were trying to find all my fears, so that you could exploit them! You've been working on making my fears worse, and making me see fear everywhere. And, you know what? There's a reason people have trouble with not calling you 'Doctor' anymore. There's a reason people still think you're brilliant. It's because you are! You could have been the most amazing psychiatrist ever because you can make anyone believe anything! But, you make him believe it so well that no one can reverse the belief. Not even you. You wanted me to be scared of you. Well, guess what, _Professor Crane_? I'm_ terrified_. Just, for once in your life, be happy with your accomplishment, and stop trying to further your research, okay?"

"You should know that I cannot feel guilt over anything, Edward."

"I know, Professor."

"I am incapable of it."

"How nice for you."

"Honestly, Edward. Not even if I want to. I am incapable of guilt. As I am incapable of fear. As I am incapable of happiness."

"Okay, Crane. But, I'm angry right now. So, you're not going to make me feel sorry for you. I don't care."

And, the Scarecrow, who, entirely truthfully, could not feel a tiny bit of guilt, simply continued to sew in silence.

At around seven-thirty, Jonathan finished his outfit. He changed into the patchwork pants and his dingy labcoat then put the mask over his head. He pocketed one hundred-sixteen vials inside his labcoat, where he'd sewn many extra pockets. Then he loaded the contents of the other ten vials into the syringes that were attached to the glove for his right hand. He pulled the glove on and tied a noose messily around his neck before stepping out of the lab.

Edward was seated on the couch, solving a crossword. He looked up when the Scarecrow appeared behind the couch. "Ready to go _already_, Crane? Fine, then. It will probably take us long enough to find a car to steal..."

"You aren't any better, I see."

"Don't worry about me. I won't spoil this little operation for you," Edward stated, toneless. He threw the crossword book at the coffee table and stood up, carrying his jacket. "Shall we go?"

The two left the hideout in search of a car. It just so happened that the first one they came across had a driver. Edward dealt with that small inconvenience quickly, and they climbed into the car.

The drive to the university was almost completely silent. In fact, it wasn't until the car had driven onto campus that Edward suddenly asked, "Where did you go to college?"

"What?"

"You didn't actually go to GSU, did you? You're not included as an alumni on their website."

"You believe that they would want to advertise that _I_ went there?"

"Well, Poison Ivy was included. I assume you would be, too."

"Edward, I murdered my grandmother the day I graduated high school. You didn't expect that I stuck around Gotham after that, did you? I left the state for a while. When I returned, I took a job at this place."

"No one ever suspected that you killed all those people?"

"It was all in the past, Edward. College was not a bad experience for me. So, I returned to Gotham and decided to teach at a college. I was perfectly content with life, then. Until, for a second time, some people tried to make things difficult for me."

"...Where should I park?"

"Student Parking. Lot C. In the back."

"It's almost eight-thirty. I told the guys to meet me at the front gate at nine."

"Well, then, park, and you can head back to the front gate, while I look around."

Edward followed the instructions to park, and then he got out of the car and handed the keys to Jonathan. "Here. Harley's going to pick me up at nine-thirty. You'll have to drive back."

"You don't still think I believe you're taking care of Harley's hyenas, surely."

Edward didn't respond and instead began walking back toward the gate. Unfortunately, he didn't walk slowly enough, and he arrived at the gate with fifteen minutes left to wait. But, as he waited in the shadows of the gate, he looked up at the sky and noticed the Batsignal. Well, that was good, at least... Someone else was out there, distracting the Bat...

"Edward!"

The Prince of Puzzles followed the voice only to see Jonathan running toward him. "What are you doing, _Crane_? What happened to my plan?"

"Your riddle gave us up," Jonathan whispered as he slipped into the safety of the shadows.

"What do you mean? They're waiting for us?"

"Not them. Catwoman."

"...What?," Edward asked, all traces of contempt for Jonathan disappearing from his face.

"You framed her for kidnapping that doctor. She must have found out it was you somehow... Probably those two thugs you hired to help you told her. And, then she must have solved your riddle from television last night and showed up here to deal with you herself."

"Oh, lovely... That means that Batsignal is for _here_... Batman will be here any minute!" As soon as Edward said that, he realized something else: "And, we're just standing at the front gate! We might as well just hold up a flashing, neon sign: 'Oh, _Batman_! We're right here! Please come and arrest us!' "

"So, what do you suggest we do?"

"Move, of course! Hide and just let Batman get Catwoman! But... Oh, God, you know she's going to tell him why she's here. And, then, they'll both start looking for me. It won't take ten minutes for them to get that settled! My taxi doesn't get here until nine-thirty!"

"Taxi, hm? What happened to Harley and the hyena story?"

"Oh, to heck with Harley!," Edward shouted, waving his hands dramatically. "She wouldn't ask me to watch those stupid mongrels, and there's no way I'd ever say yes if she did!" His shouting died out and melted into whimpering, "I don't want to go back to Arkham yet..."

"_Then shut up. Here comes a car._"

Edward's eyes widened in panic. "We're still at the front gate!"

Scarecrow put his hand over Edward's mouth and swiftly pulled him into the bushes. He waited until the Batmobile's sleek form passed by to move his hand. "_He's here._"

Edward coughed. "When was the last time you washed that hand?"

"_Not long ago._"

"Well, it smells awful."

"_It's just the toxin._"

"Oh, really? And, to think, all these past few days I just thought it was you who smelled bad..." Edward pursed his lips, suddenly thoughtful. "Actually, the whole hideout was smelling like that... Do you think..." He frowned. "The fumes affected me...?"

"_Most likely. All I remember of developing the toxin was a sort of paranoia. Constant paranoia. But, by the time it was fully developed, I was immune from so much exposure._"

Edward remained silent for a few moments, letting those words sink in. If that was the case, then... "So... You weren't the one making me freak out?"

"_Oh, I'll take the blame for that. I certainly made a large contribution. The fumes probably just made it a bit worse._"

"Right... Well, from now on, you are going to have to work in someplace that is not connected to the areas where I sleep or deal with my own work."

"_You can't remodel the warehouse again!_"

"We're not _going _back to the warehouse, Jonathan. That taxi is coming at nine-thirty to take us to the airport. We're catching the first flight available, and, then, when we're safe out of Gotham, we're going to catch the next flight to California."

"_We can't leave!_"

"Yes, we can! I've done it before! It really works great when you're trying to come up with a huge operation. We can have as long as we want to plan... And, then we can read the headlines to find the perfect opportunity to come back."

"_The entire reason for breaking out of Arkham was for me to experiment on patients._"

"And, you can plan out your experiments while we're out of Gotham! Or, you know what? You can experiment on people far away from Gotham City. In a discrete way. That way you can build up an even better toxin! Batman will be _shocked _when we return!"

Jonathan tapped a syringe-topped finger on his leg, and he dropped the Scarecrow-voice. "Why does it seem like you are constantly coming up with a new plan, and we never actually follow through with any of them?"

"Look, Jonathan, I know it's not ideal to just up and leave Gotham like this. And, really, when I decided to leave earlier today, you weren't included in the plan. But, looking back on it, I'm not too certain that it wasn't the fear toxin doing the thinking for me then. It's hard for me to admit, Jonathan, but... I was scared earlier. At first I was scared of you. And, then when you started talking about the scythe, part of me wanted to believe you were kidding. The other part thought you really wanted to kill me. So, I planned this big idea where I'd just sort of disappear after this heist... That way, I wouldn't have to choose which part of me to believe. And, as long as I didn't choose... I couldn't be wrong. It's that fear you were talking about, Jonathan... Itchy-pho-..."

Jonathan shook his head, pronouncing each syllable seperately, "A-tych-i-pho-bi-a."

"Right. That one," Edward continued, as if the correct pronunciation wasn't very important. "Anyway, I just... I _can't_ be wrong, Jonathan."

"And, why do you expect me to go with you, now?"

"Well, I mean, that plan was before Catwoman showed up, and Batman, and... I don't _expect _you to come, Jonathan. I understand that I'm the one they'll be searching for. I'm really the one in danger. But, if those thugs told Catwoman I framed her, then when she goes back to question them again, they could tell her where our hideout is. They were in there, after all. You could get caught. You're the one who orchestrated the whole breakout from Arkham, Jonathan. And, you let me follow: we escaped together. So, really, I think we're in this together. I don't think we should give up, now. We just need to get away for a little while and buy some time." Edward stopped for a moment to take a breath. Then he allowed a small smile to cross his face. "_Besides_, you _have_ to come with me now, to prove me right."

"What?"

"I made a choice. About whether you're trying to kill me or not. I said that I didn't want to choose because I couldn't be wrong. But, I've chosen. And, how will I know if I've made the right choice if you don't come along?"

"I could just tell you. What was your choice?"

"Ah, but Jonathan, I can't just _give _you the answer to the riddle. That takes all the fun out of the game."

"Since when is this a game?"

"Oh, Doctor, don't you know _anything_? It's _all_ fun and games until somebody gets hurt! So far, _I'm_ in perfect health. How about you?"

The Scarecrow leaned back against the wall that made up part of the GSU entry gate. "What time does that taxi get here again?"


	11. Air

**Part Two: The Light Beyond Their Sight  
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11. Air

"How do I look, Jonathan?"

"Like The Riddler in a mustache. Take off the mask, Edward."

"But, I look so _ordinary_ without my mask!"

"That's the point. We're trying not to be recognized."

"Fine! But, I'm not taking off my hat!"

"Yes, you are. And, the jacket. Ordinary Gotham citizens don't go parading around in green suits."

The Riddler looked scandalized. "You're _evil_, Scarecrow!"

"Yes. I know. The tie's got to go, as well."

"My tie? But, I'll look absolutely barbaric without it!"

"It has a question mark on it, Edward. How much more obvious can it get?"

"Remember about twenty minutes ago when I stopped hating you? Yeah, that's over. It was a nice twenty minutes."

"You're the one who thinks we should leave Gotham. We'll never get out of Gotham if anyone recognizes us."

Edward pouted, shrugging off his suit jacket and pulling off his tie."There! Good enough for you?"

"It will have to do. But, next time wear black pants if you're planning something like this. Most businessmen don't go gallivanting about in bright green pants."

"Well, I don't see what _you're_ planning on doing to be unrecognizable! Look at you! Everything about you screams, 'Scarecrow!' "

Jonathan pulled off his mask and gloves, throwing them into the hole in the flowerbed. He then took off his labcoat and folded it up before depositing it in the hole, too. "There. Better?"

"Mhm. Now, everything about you screams, 'Hobo!' "

Jonathan kneeled down, covering their belongings in soil. "That's fine. It's better than being the Scarecrow at the moment."

"Alright... So, here's the story: I'm actually _from _California, where I've lived my whole life. And, when I was thirteen, my older sister got married and moved to Gotham City. A few years later, she got pregnant and died while in labor, killing the baby, as well. Her husband was in so much grief that he just disappeared off the map. Recently, however, we got a lead on his whereabouts, and so I've traveled to Gotham to recover my long-lost brother-in-law. What do you think?"

"That sounds needlessly complicated."

"No, it's not! It's not even complicated enough. We have to go over the details, in case we're questioned. Your name is John Smith..."

"Really, Edward? John Smith?"

"Fine! John... Watson. And, I'm Stephen Holmes. Your wife's name was Shirley..."

"Shirley_ Holmes_. You can't be serious, Edward."

"And, you obviously wanted to name your son Edward because you often accidentally address me by that name."

"None of this is necessary, Edward."

"Stephen, John. Please, call me Stephen. Don't let the shadows of your tortured past keep you from sanity and the loving family that's been searching for you all these years..." Edward took out a handkerchief, dabbing at his eyes dramatically.

"No one is even here yet! Drop the act!"

"Don't take your anger out on me, John! I miss my sister, too!"

Jonathan's lip curled. "If you don't give up that ridiculous story..."

A shout from somewhere nearby made both The Riddler and the Scarecrow grow silent: "Holy garden gnomes, Batman! I think I heard something over here!"

Edward's face paled. He glanced at Jonathan and whispered, "What do we do?"

"_Follow me._"

"What?"

Jonathan didn't repeat himself; instead, he jumped up and ran along the wall, his movements completely silent. Edward, not wanting to be found by Robin - and especially not Batman or Catwoman -, had no choice but to chase after the Scarecrow.

Edward struggled to keep up with Jonathan, and the struggle only increased when he half-paused to look at every shadow with suspicion. "The taxi is going to meet me in the parking lot! How are we going to get back there, Jonathan?"

"_I worked here for years, Edward. Stop worrying. Just try to keep up._"

They raced along the wall until they came to a secondary entrance, and Jonathan stopped. Edward almost fell over when he tried to stop; he was completely out of breath. Edward doubled over, trying his best to calm his heart rate, and Jonathan watched the road for any incoming cars. After a minute or so, a pair of headlights caught his attention.

"_Edward, stand up. That's it._"

Edward slowly pulled himself up and looked at the approaching car. "How could you... Never mind." He sighed. "I'll go stop it..."

Jonathan stood still while Edward ran toward the taxi. The car stopped, and the driver rolled down his window to exchange a few words with The Riddler. Then Edward waved Jonathan over and got into the car. Jonathan quickly followed. "To the Gotham City Airport, please," Edward said calmly.

"Sure thing," answered the taxi driver. He'd looked at Jonathan a bit oddly, but, other than that, he didn't seem to have any interest in his passengers. He _was _in Gotham City, after all. He had to deal with driving around people much stranger than Stephen Holmes and John Watson on a daily basis.

Edward watched the back window cautiously, making sure that the car wasn't being followed for the first ten minutes of the drive. When he was finally satisfied that they'd gotten away, he tried to strike up a conversation, but Jonathan didn't seem interested in speaking. So, Edward thought in silence for the entire drive - mostly about how the first thing he was going to do when they got to the airport was go to the gift shop and buy Jonathan a shirt. It was rather disgusting to look at him without one: the skin was pale and splotchy, and his bones were practically protruding out of his chest... It was certainly not a pretty sight.

When the taxi pulled up to the front of the airport, Edward handed the driver two hundred-dollar bills and got out of the car without another word. Jonathan climbed out of the car as well, looking at the airport. "I've never actually been on this sort of plane," he said.

"Really? You've flown helicopters and planes, but you've never been on a passenger flight?"

"I don't often travel outside Gotham. And, when I do, I travel in a car."

"Ah, I see... Feeling a little apprehension, Professor?"

"No. Actually, I've wanted to go on one of these flights for a while..."

Edward raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"_No reason..._"

"..Alright... I'm going to go buy the tickets. You go look around somewhere, and try to avoid cameras."

Jonathan nodded and turned away, scanning the ceiling for security cameras. He put a hand in his pocket, checking to make sure that the vials of toxin were safe, and then he walked toward a shop inside the airport. The lady at the counter kept a wary eye on him - understandable because there was a sign that read, 'No shirt, no shoes, no service'. But, she looked young, probably just barely twenty years old, and she and Jonathan were the only ones in the shop. She seemed too afraid to say anything to him in case he was actually dangerous...

"John, I bought the tickets!," Edward announced, sweeping into the little shop. The counter-girl looked relieved. Edward Nigma looked much more civilized and much less dangerous than Jonathan Crane. "We're going to Metropolis. There's a flight from there that we can catch tomorrow at noon that will take us to some town in Iowa, where there's an almost-immediate flight to L.A. We can drive to Malibu from there. But, anyway, boarding started ten minutes ago. So, we need to get going." Edward picked up a random shirt that read, 'Gotham City,' and he took it to the cashier. "Here, we're taking this." He put a fifty-dollar bill on the counter and ushered Jonathan out of the store. "Go put this on in the bathroom or something."

"Why?" Jonathan took the shirt from Edward impatiently and pulled it on in the middle of the airport.

"You are so uncivilized."

"No, I simply don't see the point in wasting _more _time, Edward. Now, lead the way."

"Alright, the check is over this way," he said quickly, walking off.

"Check?"

"The security check."

"_Security_ check?"

"Yes, Jonathan, the security check. Surely you knew about that: you haven't been living under a rock all this time..."

Jonathan's eyes traveled around the building. "Of course, I know what it is... I just didn't think about it being an issue..."

"What do you mean? I thought you left that old sickle in the flowerbed back at the school!"

"I _did_," he responded, reading a sign on security guidelines that was posted on the wall. His eyes traveled down the list of prohibited items... 'Firearms, explosives,'... There it was. 'Dangerous chemicals'. "...Edward, is there any way we can just drive to California?"

"Why? Afraid of radioactivity from the airport scanners?"

"I'm not 'afraid'... But, things might be more convenient for the plan if we just take a car..."

"More convenient for the plan? That would _ruin_ the plan!," Edward answered, moving forward in line to the scanner and security officer.

Jonathan watched Edward remove a few things from his pockets, including the Scarecrow's pocketwatch, which had never been returned to Jonathan. Then Edward walked through the scanner. Jonathan cursed under his breath as the guard turned to him. The security man nodded and said gruffly, "Your turn, sir. Take out anything in your pockets."

Jonathan eyed the guard for a moment before murmuring under his breath, "If you thought_ that _would ruin the plan..." Jonathan reached in his pocket and pulled out a single vial of fear toxin.

"Excuse me, sir, but what is that?"

"Chemicals."

"I'm sorry, but we're going to have to confiscate that flask. Any chemicals that are seen as potentially dangerous have to be removed, for the safety of our passengers..." The guard made a grab for the vial, but Jonathan moved it out of his reach.

"Who said the chemicals were dangerous, officer?"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to hand the vial over." A few of the other guards on duty had stopped movement in their own lines to watch the commotion.

"And, I'm going to have to ask you not to trifle with me, James."

The guard looked alarmed for a moment before he put a hand over his nametag. "Give me the vial."

"You never _have_ been good with manners, have you, James? What's the magic word?"

"Give me the vial!" The other guards were surrounding Jonathan.

The Scarecrow turned his head to the side to see the others. Then he looked back at the guard James. "As you wish." He threw the vial at the ground, and it shattered instantly. The red liquid inside it exploded with a snap, and bright red gas filled the air. Jonathan ducked away from the crowd of guards and pulled out a handful of vials, tossing them over his shoulder. He ran through the scanner and grabbed Edward by the arm, pulling him toward the boarding gate as a mixture of screams, shouts, and cries traversed across the building. "There goes the plan... again. One day perhaps we can think of a plan we'll actually follow through with." Edward was silent, his expression wracked with fear; he'd been close enough to the explosion to inhale some of the toxin's fumes. "It _was_ just five doses... You'll be fine in a few minutes, Edward. So, please, be more cooperative." Nothing Jonathan could say affected Edward's stiff body, which seemed almost paralyzed. Jonathan took out a few more doses of toxin to throw at the men who were stationed by the entrance to the plane. He then threw Edward into the aircraft and took out a handful of vials to hold up in front of the passengers who were already seated. "_Scarecrow. No one moves, and no one gets hurt_," he said instantly when he saw the surprised faces of the passengers. Their surprise quickly turned into _fear_. Jonathan kicked the stepladder that was used to board the plane far enough away so that he could close the door. He then made his way to the cockpit of the plane, still holding the toxin in his hand. When he re-appeared, it was only to drag the screaming pilot and a few other members of the plane's staff out into the passenger area. "Someone buckle them up. We don't want them being tossed around the plane."

One of the passengers, a man who was with his wife and son, stood up and shouted, "Leave us alone, Scarecrow! Batman will come save us!"

"Batman wouldn't dare do a thing as long as I'm in control of this plane. He'll be too _afraid_ that I'll hurt someone... Now, sit down or help these poor people to their seats. Take-off is imminent."

When Edward Nigma regained his senses, he realized that he was on a plane. On his planned flight! He thought for a moment that maybe he'd just had a bad dream that his plan had gone wrong... But, Jonathan wasn't sitting next to him. And, the passengers sitting around him didn't look bored out of their minds, like people on normal flights... Actually, they looked quite anxious. He turned to the person nearest to him and asked, "Excuse me, but what's going on?"

The passenger, a woman who was hugging her young son to herself, answered, "It's the Scarecrow... He's hijacked the plane."

"Of _course_ he has," Edward mumbled, reaching down to unbuckle himself. _How long have I been out? I swear, Jonathan..._

"Wait, no! You have to stay still. He said that if anyone moved, he was going to gas the whole plane! What if he lets us drop into the ocean?" She held her son even more tightly.

"Ocean?" Edward stood up and made his way to the nearest window, where, sure enough, water was easily visible below. "He's _mad_! Crazy! We don't have enough fuel to be over the ocean! We'll _die_!"

The woman sobbed, "Don't say that!"

"Oh, shut up, lady!" Edward pushed his way to the aisle. "Jonathan!_ Jonathan_! JON-A-THAN!" He walked right into the cockpit, both hands on his hips. "_What_ are you doing?"

"The toxin has a heavy effect on you. You've been out for an hour."

"Not what I asked. _Why_ are we flying over the ocean?"

"Well, I wasn't going to fly to Metropolis. Then Superman would have been after us."

"You're aware that Metropolis is not thousands of miles away, right? They don't load planes up with fuel they don't need! We can only fly a few hundred miles before this big hunk of metal runs out of fuel!"

"Relax. I'm not going far. Just call one of your private helicopters or planes. I personally think you should have done that in the first place."

"My planes are very ostentatious... And, the helicopters aren't suited for long-distance travel. Why don't _you _have a plane?"

"I've had several, but none are programmed to come to me at the touch of a button."

"You buried my cane because it was shaped like a question mark, Jonathan! That was where that 'button' was! I don't have it!"

"You don't?"

"Where are we, Jonathan?"

"Somewhere out in the middle of the Atlantic..."

"...How much fuel do we have left?"

"Not enough to get back to Gotham. And, not enough to get to Europe."

"We're going to die."

"It's possible."

"Oh, my God... What are we going to do?"

"I told you we should have driven instead."

"But, you didn't tell me you were planning on boarding the plane with giant pockets full of illegal, dangerous chemicals! This whole thing could have been avoided if you didn't keep stupid things a secret!"

"I got us this far. You think of something."

"You got us to our deaths; that's where you got us! But, I _will _think of something! Is there a phone on board?"

"I don't know. You're the one who gets on these flights. Why?"

"I'm calling for help! That's why!"

"Who are you going to call?"

"Anyone! The airport! Harley! The police! _Batman!_ I'll go back to jail before I'll let you kill me!"

"Why is everyone so afraid of death?"

"Because it's _death_! Turn this plane around, Jonathan!"

"Alright," he answered plainly, pulling at the controls.

Edward, shocked, rested a hand on the back of the pilot's seat. "You... Actually listened to me."

"Somewhat."

"We're going back to Gotham?"

"No. There's no way we'd make it to Gotham."

"Where are we going, then?"

"Canada."

Edward stared through the glass on the front of the plane. "...You know, I'm probably going to panic."

"As if you weren't panicking a moment ago."

"Do you promise we'll survive this?"

"Yes." Jonathan glanced at the radar on the plane. "But, my promises don't mean much."


End file.
